A Glimpse into My Future

Last night I had a glimpse into my future and I am here to tell you, it wasn't pretty. My (almost) 4 year old daughter, Paige, had a melt down of teenage magnitude. Help me, Sweet Baby Jesus, for when she actually is a teenager, I fear it will be even worse. Last night, it was anything but funny, but today, as I shared my tale with a friend, I managed to find humor in it. Here, for your reading pleasure, (and please feel free to laugh at my pain) I will transcribe last night's events.

**Please note that no parties in the following true story were anything but superficially harmed and will not suffer any permanent damage (fingers crossed.)**

I got off of work early to spend some quality time with my beautiful children. I had a great day at work and was excited to see them. Things couldn't be better. They began playing nicely with each other with the balloons that I had brought home from work for them. That was my first mistake. NEVER get too comfortable with a 4 year old and a 6 year old. The ruckus began.

Hudson yelled, "She punched me!" Paige yelled "He went like this!" and grabbed at the front of her shirt. I tried to get the whole story, which is next to impossible at this age, but the most I got was that Paige punched Hudson 'cause Hudson "went like this."

I told them that since they were unable to get along, we would NOT be getting ice cream as a treat. Apparently, that is code for Paige to assume that not only would we not be getting ice cream but I would also be brutally murdering her in her sleep because she literally burst into tears and started screaming "I'll be good! I'll be good!"

Now, my beautiful, funny and charming daughter has always been somewhat dramatic and this is not my first rodeo with the meltdowns. However, this one was as swift as it was fierce. It came like a ninja in the night - out of nowhere. I calmly told her that she would not be able to leave her room until she calmed down and stopped crying. Then Hudson and I left the room.

This tactic is like trying to eat tomato soup with a fork. It just doesn't work. She kept screaming and crying. And she does this thing with her right leg whenever she gets upset. She locks her knee and leans on it so that it almost looks like it was bent backwards. She does it every time and once the leg is locked, there is no turning back.

We were in the living room trying to read a book and I could hear her screaming and crying the whole time. Then she started screaming "My leg hurts, my leg hurts!" Ya think? You have it bent almost in half in the way it is NOT supposed to be bent. So, because her leg hurts so bad, she army crawls, yes army crawls, as if under fire into the living room to tell me that she is hurt. I said "What hurts?" She screams "My leg! My head! It hurts!" I told her that if she calmed down she would stop hurting. She started grabbing at her neck, "I can't breathe! I can't breathe!" I said, "Then you need to calm down." She screamed "You are so mean!" and ran back down the hall into her room and slammed the door.

Then, I admit it, I kind of lost it. I followed her to her room and swatted her behind. I said (well, I kind of yelled it) "You can't talk to me like that and you are staying in this room until you can calm down and treat people nicely." Then I slammed the door.

And then, like any mom (I almost said "good mom" but then decided against it because I am not entirely sure it would be true) I stood outside her door and listened to her rant and rave. Yes, my (almost) four year old was ranting and raving. She said (and this is almost verbatim) "I don't want a dog. I don't want a pony. I don't want my bed. I don't want noffing. I just want my daddy." She said this over and over again. (I m not sure why she is denouncing the pony, she doesn't have one, nor has she ever been promised one, but she was adamant that she didn't want one.)

Then I felt bad. I thought about (right or wrong) how she must feel and that I had hurt her feelings. I couldn't stand listening to her crying. I opened the door to talk to her. She looked up at me and screamed "GET OUT OF MY ROOM!" (Projectile vomiting of pea soup was not out of the realm of possibilites, at this point.)

Yeah, the compassion that I was feeling immediately left my body and all I could see was red. I believe there was actually steam coming out of my ears. (She got swatted again.) Then I started in on the "Do you pay the bills in this house? No, I do! THIS IS MY ROOM!" Seriously, Lynsey? You are doing this with a four year old? But I did. I left and slammed the door again. Poor little Hudson was just chillin in the living room with his book, waiting for story time. (This is not his first rodeo either.)

I read to him a little and then went back to the House of Horrors which contained my beautiful little demon. I gingerly opened the door as not to startle her. She was laying in her bed whimpering. I asked her if she was ready to apologize. She said yes. She said "I'm sorry I yelled, but Hudson did this." "Nope, try again, Little Lady. No blaming anyone but yourself."

She says, "Well, sometimes Sam [her cousin] is mean to me."
Me: "That is not the issue. You were mean to us, and it doesn't matter why. You just have to apologize."
Paige: "But Hudson did this."
Me: "You need to apologize."
Paige: "Ok, I'm sorry I wasn't nice."
Me: "Hudson and I are reading in the living room. Please feel free to join us when you are ready."

(There was a little more of the back and forth about the apology, it didn't come swiftly or easily but it seems redundant for the purposes of this story.)

A few minutes later, she came out of her room and cuddled in my lap. The rest of the night proceeded without incident. She even warned me not to go into the "soggy woods" (foggy woods) lest I get bitten by the monster that lives there.

When I put her to bed, she said "Mommy, you are the bestest, bestest, bestest Mommy ever. I love you." I wonder if (almost) four year olds can be bipolar....

These Are A Few of My Favorite Words

I fancy myself somewhat of a wordsmith. I love words with my whole heart. Dictionary.com is saved to my "favorites" and I still have the dictionary I got as the "English Award" as a senior in high school. Of course, there are some words that I hate: fluid (because it is never used in a positive way), penetrate (for obvious reasons) and the majority of words that have an "i" and "e" in succession because they are hard to spell. But, there are also a lot of words that I LOVE. I want to use them every day and I actually get excited when I hear other people use them. This is a list of some of my favorite words and of course, in the true sense of Vocab class with Ms. Estep, I will proceed to use them in a sentence. Lieu - In LIEU of listening to Stevie Nicks, why don't we listen to a goat dying? It is pretty much the same. (This word is much different than the word "loo" but I really like that one too! Also, I realize that this goes against the "i" and "e" theory, but that is a testament to the awesomeness of this word. It's a really good one.) Plethora - Just because I have a PLETHORA of shoes, doesn't mean that I don't need a new pair! Imminent - My weight gain is IMMINENT when I choose to eat hot wings and blue cheese instead of raw veggies and hummus. (This is so true!) Ensue - Hilarity ENSUEs whenever I am in a reasonable distance of a karaoke machine. Melancholy - Melon Collie and the Infinite Sadness makes me MELANCHOLY because I despise that Billy Corgan! Sufficient - No thank you, three shots of tequila is SUFFICIENT for me! Inexplicable - Kristen's hair is INEXPLICABLE today! (This is a real sentence, not made up for this blog, and yes, her hair was inexplicable that day!) Assail - "Bowel-shaking earthquakes of doubt and remorse, ASSAIL him, impale him with monster truck force." (This is a lyric from "The Distance" by Cake, but it was also one of our vocab words. See Ms. E, I actually was listening!) Any given day - Jodi cannot, in fact, beat Lynsey in a foot race on ANY GIVEN DAY. (I realize that this is a phrase but it makes me smile whenever I hear it.) These are just a few of my favorite words.... (can any one else hear the Sound of Music?) I love words and grammar and spelling and punctuation. On a side note, my favorite punctuation mark is the semicolon. There is a sentence at the end The Cider House Rules by John Irving that has TWO semicolons in it! That sentence makes my whole day! I realize that this entire blog makes me seem like a nerd, but I am OK with it. That doesn't make me MELANCHOLY at all!

A Year without New Clothes

It is no secret that I have a shopping problem. I kind of always have. I love to shop. I love the thrill of the hunt. I like searching through the sale racks to find that perfect dress that maybe I don't need right now, but it is on clearance and it fits like a glove. I have a passion for reinventing a plain white sweater and jeans into a fabulous ensemble by adding a chunky belt and my personalized Converse tennies (if I was British I would have typed "trainers" there. I wish I was British.) I am the Queen of the Bargain Hunters and Making it Work. However, it has to stop. The madness has to stop.

My closet is overflowing. My drawers are overflowing. My laundry room is overflowing. I sometimes randomly find tops that I had forgotten I owned. How do I get control over an addiction that I LOVE to have? It is New Year's Resolution time, Baby!

Now, my initial thought was to not shop for an entire year. I have enough clothes that I can find something for every occasion. But here is the deal, I love to shop. It is my addiction, my past time, my hobby. I know that it seems silly and vain but the heart wants what it wants and mine wants new clothes!

My revised resolution? To not buy any "new clothes." I can only buy previously owned, gently used, clothing. This means, thrift stores, here I come. I have become quite the frequenter of thrift stores in the past few years, but I am ready to step up my game. The only NEW clothing items that I will be purchasing in 2011 will be socks, undergarments and bathing suits (because second hand panties are just NOT OK!)

I am really excited about my goal, I hope I have not set my hopes too high. Only good can come of this: 1. I can rid myself of an addiction. 2. I am helping the environment by buying "recycled" clothing. 3. The majority of thrift stores are locally owned so I will be supporting local businesses or they are owned by organizations that reinvest in the community by job placement and such (i.e. Goodwill) 4. I will stimulate the creative areas of my brain because I am really going to have to think outside of the box when it comes to putting together outfits. (I may even have to learn to sew!) and lastly, 5. It should really make an impact on my checkbook balance! You can get jeans at the Goodwill for $3!
I will be recording my adventure for all to read and to hold myself accountable. I am completely committed to do this and am so looking forward to it. I get excited just thinking about all of deals and interesting clothes just lying in wait for me. Wish me luck!

Jan 3
Three days in and I haven't bought anything! I am so proud of me. I don't even have any withdrawals yet! (Of course, I did buy a camera yesterday, but that is not a clothing item and I really did need it - it's to take pictures of my kids for crying out loud!) Anyway, I realize that three days is not a very long time, but I am counting the mini victories along the way!

Art As We Know It

I like to consider myself an artist. I doubt many people would put me in that category, but that is how I regard myself. That being said, I subscribe to the theory of "Free Art" which I may have made up. The basis of this theory is this: "It is mine and it may appear to you that I messed up but you can't prove that I didn't fully intend for it to look like that." Also, it is free art because no one has ever and likely will never pay me for any of my creations.

I did make a pretty rockin' painting for my dad for Christmas. It is one of my most favorite things I have ever made. While I was basking in the glory of my art (this is intended as a tongue in cheek comment), I started thinking about what it is to be an artist. I think it is creating something beautiful (in the eye of the beholder) out of nothing. I looked it up on the internet and the best definition that I could find for my specific use is this (courtesy of dictionary.com): a person who produces works in any of the arts that are primarily subject to aesthetic criteria.

This led me to another thought. (I have a lot of thoughts.) As a mother, I am an artist. All parants are artists. Our children are blank canvases. They are created out of a mess of cells and fluid and hopefully love, but let's face it, that's not always the case. They come out of the womb ready to be molded and shaped into beautiful creatures that can out in the world to create more beauty and wonder.

We parents, as artists, must do our due dilligence to mold and shape our children to be aesthetically pleasing. I don't mean to the eye; I am referring to shaping them to be beautiful human beings. Where it gets tricky is making sure they continue to be aesthetically pleasing as adults.

What we feed our children (metaphorically) is what they put out in the world. If you feed your children greed, anger and closed mindedness, why are you surprised that they are assholes? If you feed them schedules, rules and militant behavior, are you going to be shocked when they are uptight? Remember, children learn primarily by example. They do not subscribe to the "Do as I say, not as I do mentatlity." I like to feed my children laughter, music and glitter.

Being a artist (parent) is a huge responsibility. I am not sure the "Free Art" theory applies to parenting. You will know when my children grow up exactly the kind of parent I was. I sincerely hope I don't screw this up. I am sure that my children will not make it through their childhood with out a few metaphorical scars. I hope to keep them to a minimum though.

My children are the work of a lifetime. I still learn things from my parents today and even though my grandfather passed away, I am sure that he is still working on his art through my mother and even me. To me, there is nothing greater than looking at something beautiful that you have created and saying "I did that." That is how I feel when I look at my children.

Thanksgiving?

The story of the first Thanksgiving is a good one. People can't get enough of it. Who doesn't want hand towels in the bathroom depicting smiling blond haired, blue eyed Pilgrims with their arms around a Native American wearing nothing but a loin cloth and a headdress. (Never mind the fact that it was harvest time in frickin' New England...) Thanksgiving was to celebrate the fact that the Pilgrims had survived the first few years in the New World with the help of their new BFF's, the Wampanoag Tribe. The Native Americans taught the white man how to live off the land, fish and grow food. The Native Americans helped the white man learn how to survive. It is no wonder we invited them to dinner, all of the Pilgrims would have been dead without them. The Native Americans saved the Pilgrims lives. That commands some serious thanks.

Now let's think about how the Pilgrims showed their appreciation for all that was given so freely from their new friends:

1. Disease - we brought small pox, plague (bubonic and others), influenza, tuberculosis and, hello? SYPHILIS! Who can't get enough of that?
2. Modern weaponry - while this can be helpful when defending oneself and in hunting food, wasn't it just the beginning of weapons of mass destruction?
3. Thievery - Clearly, they were here first. We came in (looking for solace from religious persecution) and took their land. Then we decided to start bossing these INDIGENOUS people around. They had their own tribes with governing bodies. There was war between tribes, of course, as with all civilization. But I have heard some make the argument that these these HUMAN BEINGS were barbarians and needed us to come in and teach them how to behave civilly, which brings me to my next point...
4. The Trail of Tears - I realize that the tribes that walked the trail were not the Wampanoag, however, they were still the "owners" of this land that we call America, that we so rudely swooped in and stole, just because we could. Apparently, the irony was lost on Andrew Jackson, that we were only here because we wanted to be free so we decided to take away the rights and freedom of an entire race of people whose land we took from them.
5. Retribution - In 2000, the Bureau of Indian Affairs officially apologized for having taken part in ethnic cleansing (took us long enough, didn't it?) To make up for our atrocious behavior, we have allowed these native people to live in reservations (of our choosing), the right to own and operate casinos and declared them a minority to further their chances of getting an education and job (again with the irony of the fact that they are a minority because of genocide at the hands of the white man is lost on so many.)

There are a lot of arguments (mainly from white males) that THEY are now the most discriminated against race/gender because "we" make so many allowances for the minorities. I respectfully disagree. The white male is rarely discriminated against in the work place. They are the highest paid and generally speaking have had it pretty easy. (The majority of white males did not grow up on a reservation or in the ghetto.) There are a lot of arguments that today's generation of whites don't owe today's generation of minorities anything because "we" didn't do anything to "them." While I agree that "we" didn't, shouldn't "we" step up to the plate and help our fellow humans out for all of the injustice in the world, regardless of who was at the heart of it? If we don't stop saying "I didn't do anything, why should I have to pay?" then nothing will ever get better.

I, with my entire heart and being, believe that we should give thanks to ourselves, our friends, our families and to our gods (if you so choose) for all that we have in our lives. But let's face it, the "Story of Thanksgiving" is as much of a fairy tale as Cinderella or Pretty Woman. It would be awesome if life was like that but it is not. This world is an ugly place and unfortunately, the "greedy white man" is usually at the center of it. I will teach my children to be thankful for all that they have. I remind them every day that they have so much to be thankful for. They are loved, never go to bed hungry, have a warm place to sleep and clothes on their backs. This is more than a lot of people have and will ever have. But I refuse to take the one day that is supposed to be about appreciating what we have and spend the entire day running around, shopping, cooking, cleaning and stressing out to make sure my family and I have a picture perfect day in which to give thanks instead of actually spending time with them. Do you think that is what our friends, the Native Americans, are doing? Nope, I bet they are thinking about all they did for us and kicking themselves in the ass!

How Garry Marshall, Julia Roberts and Richard Gere Ruined My Life

***The following piece of writing is purely a work of satire. Although the views in this blog are 100% my true feelings, I do know the difference between fact and fiction. Pretty Woman did not, in fact, ruin my life. It has only succeeded in irritating me and exacerbating societal issues with young girls and women of lesser intelligence and more susceptibility to the power of suggestion.***

In 1990, the movie Pretty Woman opened in wide release. It was critically acclaimed and nominated for several awards. It won a Golden Globe for Best Comedy. Of course, since I was ten when the movie came out, and because my parents were "involved" in my life, I didn't get to see it until I was almost 12 at a friend's house. (Her mother was decidedly less involved than mine.)

Considering the director is a beloved and well respected member of Hollywood and the fact that the leading roles are played by none other than "America's Sweetheart" and an "American Gigolo" (I am pretty sure that Vick still won't let me watch that movie) the movie has done well for itself in the last 20 years. Just ask any woman over the age of 25. It is the modern day Cinderella story (don't get me started on Cinderella...) But here is the problem. Not only is the movie filled with gum drops and rainbows so to speak, it also says "Go ahead, be a whore. Your prince will come one day and there will be no judgement."

But, I am here to tell you, it is a load of crap. Power brokers may in fact pick up a hooker in downtown LA but they aren't going to let you drive their six figure price tag, BORROWED car. They will not take you to the Hilton. They will not ask you to leave when they think you are doing drugs (because they are more than likely snorting a line of coke off of your belly) and they certainly will not think you are cute when you a guffawing at "I Love Lucy."

Men who pick up hookers do not care that "kissing on the mouth is too personal." They won't give you thousands of dollars to buy a dress so that you can eat escargot with a whale of a client. They don't want you to spend the week with them.

There are so many lies and fabrications in this movie it has surpassed ridiculousness. Really ladies, this is our fantasy? Do we want to be hookers and have to sell our bodies to make rent cause our crackhead roommate Kit spent it on drugs (and really? we keep the rent money in the toilet tank?) No, I say, if you want to be a hooker, be a hooker! But let's be honest about it and not have false expectations that we will soon meet a man that will ride up to our apartment in a white limo and climb the fire escape to whisk us off to life of luxury after knowing us for a week (in the regular and biblical sense.)

If you are going to be a hooker, just say, "I don't want to get a real job." I want to have sex and get paid for it (even if you tell yourself and others it is to pay for law school....) But you should be prepared for the fact that any man that sleeps with you while you are a hooker (or even a stripper, for that matter) will never marry you. He will never take you to the opera or a polo match. He will never tell any of his friends exactly how you make a living. (He will, however, tell them you are in public relations. That is assuming he is ever inclined to introduce you to any one he has ever met.)

You have to own it, ladies. Don't buy into the fairy tale. It is called a fairy tale for a reason. Because it will never happen. Be strong, independent women. Don't be hookers. Unless that is what YOU choose to do, then by all means do it. But don't make excuses. I am not interested in excuses.

And to you Garry Marshall, Julia Roberts and Richard Gere- kudos to you for making one hell of a movie!

Ten Things I Learned from St. Louis

Last weekend my best friends and I took a long weekend in St. Louis. It was my first time in Missouri and while my mother was sure to inform me that there was "so much history" in St. Louis and there are tons of museums, I was bound and determined not to learn anything on my weekend away from responsibilities and being a grown up. Well, my mother will be happy to know that despite my best efforts, I did, in fact, learn a few things on my trip.



1. The arch is not as much of a gateway as it is a statue in the middle of a park.

No one told me that the arch crossed the Mississippi however, that is the way that I imagined it. I don't know why but since it is called the Gateway to the West, I figured you would go through it at some point to get somewhere else (and NOT to the other side of the park.) Although the arch was quite impressive and beautiful, I think it would have been more impressive if it went over the river or at least the road to welcome us to St. Louis.



2. When you can't find your suitcase, a laundry basket works just as well.

A wise woman (this is you Jess T. Berg) once stayed at my house and had packed in a laundry basket. So when I was trying to pack late Thursday night and could not for the life of me find anything to pack in, I thought "Hey! A laundry basket is better than a garbage bag." And not only was it better than a garbage bag, it may have worked out better than the suitcase. It would have been better if it had a handle and wheels, but I was able to fit all of my crap in it and fit well in the back of the Jeep. It was slightly embarrassing though to check in to the Millennium hotel while there was a reception going on carrying a laundry basket with a leopard print Snuggi on top.



3. Eemy Shinkle (one of "my girls" - that is her real name, I swear) cannot go down an escalator without a "free hand" to hold the rail.

So while I packed in a laundry basket, the other girls packed in duffel bags and suitcases. Between the four of us, there was a cooler, a laundry basket, a suitcase, 5 bags, 4 purses, tupperware filled with cupcakes and a lap top bag. That is a lot of stuff! We had to park in the garage across the street, ride an elevator down 8 floors, cross the parking garage, go down an escalator, cross the tunnel under the street and go back up 2 floors just to check in. We had everything situated and balanced precariously (the laundry basket was riding on top of the suitcase) and we weren't doing too bad until we came upon the escalator. I took the laundry basket and Eemy had the suitcase in one hand, the cooler in the other and her purse and possibly the cupcakes. She hesitated at the top because she didn't have a hand to put on the rail. There were several false starts when she decided to let go of the suitcase and then once she got on, she would grab the handle and go down. Except that didn't happen. What did happen was panic when she didn't grab the handle in time and started down the escalator. Not sure why but instead of just riding down and taking two trips, Eemy decided it was a better idea to run up the down escalator to get back to the top (while still holding all the stuff.) She reached the top but still couldn't grab the suitcase either from lack of coordination or laughing, I am not sure which. That time she gave up and just rode all the way down. And did I mention that during this time, the rest of us were laughing hysterically, another guest was watching and Jo was trying not too look because she hadn't gone to the bathroom in hours and almost had an accident.



4. Betty, the concierge, doesn't know crap about good food.

We needed a place to eat. We wanted fast and cheap. We asked Betty (although Jo renamed her Polly) how to get to the Metro but also, where to get something to eat. We were hungover and starving. She told us about the cafe at the hotel but since we didn't want to pay $12 for a chicken salad sandwich, we asked for her to direct us to the nearest fast food. She looked out the window, illustrated to us that we were on 4th St by holding up her four fingers and pointed us in the direction of Hardee's. She also stated, with authority in a strangely thick Jersey accent, that the "food is horrible." Well, Betty/Polly, you have obviously never eaten there after drinking an assortment of shots and dancing all night because I say it was "Delish!" Never has grease tasted so good.



5. All persons wearing boot cut jeans and Affliction T shirts are douche bags.

This is straight from the mouth of Lil Jay - our tattoo artist. While I am not positive that I completely agree (no one is immune from a few bad fashion decisions) I do notice that the majority of Affliction T wearing guys are not as awesome as they think they are.



6. If you are willing to loosen up your morals, you can ride the Metro for free.

S0, we buy a one way Metro ticket for $2.25. That is cool, it is cheaper and easier than driving, and we know we won't get lost. But here is the deal - no one took our ticket. No one looked at it or even noticed us at all. It sort of felt like a Metro free for all. So we did. We rode the entire weekend on that one ticket. We never lied about it and we were willing to buy another one, but since we didn't have to, we didn't. I know that technically it is stealing, but Jo was OK with it and she is VERY against stealing. Plus, it was like cash in our pocket and we are in an economic crisis, you know...



7. Not all cabbies know where they are going and they don't like their pictures taken.

Friday night we went to the Landing where all the tourists go. (We saw a lot of Affliction T shirts that night.) Saturday night we wanted to find "our people." We asked around and got the name of a couple of dive bars. We figured, "We'll tell the cabbie and he'll get us there." Well, the first cabbie took us to an Irish bar which wasn't too bad, but we didn't know any Irish jigs so we left there and tried to go somewhere else. Through a series of random events gone awry (thanks for the phrase, Jo!) we wind up in the middle of a residential street at 11 pm in a questionable neighborhood. Luckily, Eemy had the first cabbie's number (whose name was not Harris but did work for Harris Cab Co) so we called him. Eemy peed behind a tree and about 4 cops passed us without stopping to check on the four white girls chillin on the side walk in the middle of the night before he got there, but luckily he didn't take too long. We told him that we were ready to go back to the hotel and give up but on the way back he was nice enough to take us on a detour to show us the party street where "all the young people are drinking and dancing." That cost us at least five extra dollars but I can't be mad since he saved us from getting ass raped in the city. Oh yeah, and the cabbie on Friday night did NOT like it when I took his picture for my scrapbook. I guess the lighting wasn't good....



8. St Louis is filled with delicious food and free crap!

On Sunday, we were going to go to the Budweiser factory (I was willing to learn something about beer) but we couldn't figure out when the free shuttle was coming and since the free Metro didn't go there, we scrapped that idea. We decided instead to go to the "Taste of St. Louis." I gotta say, one of the best tasting cities I have ever been too. They had beer (always delicious), garlic Parmesan cheese fries (yum!), a gyro (Mel's first), crab Rangoon (never met one I didn't like), and best of all - pulled pork nachos!!! They were amazing. The best damn nachos I have ever had the pleasure of eating. Also, at the festival, if you give your email address out, you can get a free fleece blanket with a Cadillac logo and a bright green backpack from an internet provider. We also got a T shirt, a water bottle from the MO State Lottery, key chains and tiny lotto pencils. I LOVE FREE CRAP!!



9. Lose your parking ticket.

We parked on Friday night in the garage. We didn't move the car until Monday morning. The parking is $18 a day. That is a lot of burgers from Hardee's (yup, still thinking about it.) Anyway, we had budgeted to pay for it but when I got the car out Monday morning, my ticket wouldn't work. The cashier said it was expired and put it in as a lost ticket. We only had to pay $18 for the whole weekend!! It seemed like we had this city figured out! But when I told Trav he said that we could have gotten towed. I am really glad that didn't happen. It would have totally blown our budget. Oh well, live and learn.



And the most important thing I learned on my trip to St. Louis is -



10. No matter where you are or what you are doing, if you are surrounded by awesome people, you will have an awesome time.

I have the best girls in the world and I wouldn't trade them for anything. I love them. We always manage to have a good time and there is no one else I would rather hang out with. They are my best friends and if I am going to get ass raped and stabbed in downtown St. Louis, I want to do it with them.



Vick - we had fun and stuck together the whole time!!!

I'm Back!!

Between work, kids, a dog and kindergarten homework, I have had zero time to blog and less time to think. Since Hudson started school, I feel like I have been on autopilot. Get up, get ready, get kids ready, drop off kids, go to work, work, pick up kids, dinner, homework, bedtime. Then I wake up and do it all again. So here it is, I hope the anxiously awaited, latest blog from yours truly.

I used to have a soul. Now, I have a black, hollow cavity in my chest where that soul used to be. I am not sure of the exact date and time that my soul left me but I know the where and the how. It was sucked out of me by "the man" while I was diligently working long hard hours in my office which is actually a tiny cubicle surrounded by other poor, soulless shells of human beings in tiny cubicles. We sit, chained to our desks, only allowed to get up when nature calls (as long as it doesn't call too often.) We miss our children, our families and our sleep.

Why would we do this, ask? We ask ourselves the same question. We ask ourselves that question daily, some of us hourly. The answer is this: Gotta pay the bills. Of course, I am sure that I could probably find another job. Well, more than likely. Maybe. OK, maybe not. I do it because I have goals and aspirations. Not sure how my current job in the mortgage industry will help me become a rock star, but every one's gotta start somewhere. I think most of us are in the same boat - we got in the industry when the money was good, now it's not but we are stuck. The worst part is that I actually like my job. I just liked having a soul more.

Now I have to figure out how to get my soul back while keeping my job. I have never been a fan of Corporate America but the pay is decent and it has pretty good benefits. I am teaching my children that I am not afraid of hard work and that is how to make your way in the world. I am also teaching them that sometimes the means to an end is OK, which is OK with me.

Ideally, I wouldn't have to work for the man. I could spend my days teaching my children how to love and respect all people. I could create art all day. Someone would pay me good money and give me health insurance to write down all my random musings. I doubt this is ever going to happen, but I can hope can't I?

Oh wait, do I need a soul to have hope? Never mind then...

I Am Officially 30

Today I woke up and realized I was 30. So I rolled over and went back to sleep.

I have an appointment for Botox and collagen injections later today. And I have to go buy some anti aging cream and 100% gray coverage hair color. OK, enough of that.

I never thought I would be the girl that freaks out about turning 30. But it turns out I was wrong because I have only been 30 for 11 hours and I already don't like it. I don't feel any different. I don't look any different and Hudson already told me that I didn't get any bigger (thank goodness!) But now I feel like I have to be an adult and I really don't want to be.

A couple of weeks ago I went out with some friends from high school to celebrate turning the big 3-0. We had a great time, had some drinks and Mickey D's and in the morning we discussed our Health Savings Plans. Really??? This is what we have become? Of course, that being said, we are all healthy and happy in our respective relationships, have beautiful children (or none at all, by choice), but still. Thirteen years ago, if you had told us this was going to happen, we would have laughed at you. We would have said "Never." But it happened and while I don't love the fact that I am interested in HSA's, I am not disappointed either.

My first 30 years have been filled with love, laughter, heartache and bliss. I have loved, lost and loved again. I have created my life's work (my children) and met and married my life partner (that's you, Trav.) While I am not proud of all of my decisions in life, I wouldn't be who I am today without those decisions. I have learned to love me and be proud of me in a way that I don't think is possible when you are 19, 21 or even 27.

I am going to embrace my 30's with the same zealousness that I embraced my 20's. I am sure that I will learn more about life and love so that one day people may call me wise (without the sarcasm.) I will survive this decade and in 10 years there will be another blog about how I can't believe I am 40 and all that crap. of course by then I may actually need the Botox and the collagen. I sure hope not.

First Day of School

Yesterday my baby (who is obviously no longer a baby) started kindergarten. He was so excited. When I woke him up, he jumped out of bed and was ready in a flash. He is excited about everything! Buying lunch, packing lunch, recess, riding the bus... You name it, he wants to do it. His teacher seems very nice. She is young so she doesn't seem bitter or jaded (yet.) She was very excited about school starting and it was hard not to share her enthusiasm.

I have mixed emotions about Hudson starting school. On the "Pro" side are the following:

1. He loves to learn.
2. Helping him with homework and doing all the fun stuff that comes along with school.
3. He can make friends (outside of my friend's children and his cousins.)

The "Con" side:

1. Travis and I will no longer be the primary influences on his life and decisions.
2. I can no longer control what he learns, sees, hears, or says.
3. As one of my friends stated: "It is the first day of the rest of his life."

I am definitely not ready for him to move on with his life. As much as I am enjoying watching him grow up, I am not ready for it. Travis has assured me that Hudson is not moving on from us, but a part of me feels that way. I miss him already. Yesterday was the first time in his entire life that I couldn't talk to him whenever the feeling struck me. I know this is a part of life (especially his) but it is a little bittersweet for me. It is hard for me to put my feelings into words, a rare occasion for me so I will just leave it at this: I love my son more than life itself. He is growing into an awesome person. I could not be more proud of him if I tried. I am not ready to share him with the world, but to not share would be an amazingly selfish thing to do. I want him to go see the world and make it a better place, as he has done for my life. I don't want to be in a world without him. He will go on to do great things, even if it is only to share his smile with the strangers he will see everyday.

I love you Hudson Joe!