Saturday, July 19, 2008

Peals of wisdom from my mother:

I am passing this on to you because it definitely works, and we could all use a little more calmness in our lives. By following simple advice heard on the Dr. Phil show, you too can find inner peace. Dr Phil proclaimed, 'The way to achieve inner peace is to finish all the things you have started and have never finished.' So, I looked around my house to see all the things I started and hadn't finished, and before leaving the house this morning, I finished off a bottle of White Zinfandel, a bottle of White Rum, a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream, a package of Oreos, the remainder of my old Prozac prescription, the rest of the cheesecake, some Doritos, and a box of chocolates. You have no idea how freaking good I feel right now.

Wednesday, July 09, 2008

The Endless Quest for the Perfect Swimsuit.

Anyone?

Anyone?

Is that an echo I hear?

We've been spending alot of time at the pool. And, my quest for the perfect swimsuit continues. I have a swimsuit. Land's End Tankini . . . two years old, so it's holding up well & has more than paid for itself. But I'm still looking. I like the tennis skirt bottom. I don't like a suit top that ties around my neck. I like to be conservative in the boob-area so I can bend over to service a child and not have a breast-icle pop out to say "hello". I like sporty. I like bright. I don't like flower patterns (I feel like wallpaper). Horizontal stripes are not my friend.

Suggestions, anyone?

Happy Anniversary

Today, MOTH and I have been married for 10 years. It's been a decade. Ten years. That sounds long. It sounds hard earned. It sounds like forever.

Today, on the day of our (read MY) 10-year anniversary, I believe I have truly had one of the worst days of my life.

I'm in a place of quiet contemplation about life. Ususally this happens on red-letter birthdays . . . but today, it hit me like a load of concrete at 6:44 am. And, it hasn't left yet. I'm quietly contemplating my life as a wife, my life as a mother, my life as a nurse. My life. I'm marveling at one of those "can't live with them/hate them for it" qualities that my husband has . . . and wondering how, in 10 years, some of it hasn't glommed onto me.

In a nutshell, here is it: He is a master at compartmentalizing.

Know what I mean? In MOTH's mind, I honestly believe that there are imaginary cubbies that hover over his head. When he's done with work, he gathers up all of his work stuff, and shoves it in his work cubbie. Then, he comes home to be daddy. When he leaves daddy-ville, he gathers up Candyland pieces and wipes off spit-up, sticks all the evidence of children into the "daddy-cubby." There is beauty in his method that make me feel both envious and annoyed.

First, know that I'm not much of a compartmentalizer. My life is like a tossed salad. I'm organized, don't get me wrong . . . but I don't "put away" or "put off" or "put aside" major indicators of my existance. They all overlap and mingle . . . like cucumbers, tomatos and carrots tossed in a salad. Add some croutons, sprinkle in some cheese . . . That's my life -- a tossed salad.

So, I find myself envious of his method because he can completely, without hesitancy, absolutely apply himself 100% (sometimes 110%) to any one given task at any given time. Everyone just waits for him to finish . . . it's like they know. He gives off a different vibe. When he's working . . . he's working with all his heart and soul -- on a cellular level. (When I'm working, I'm also filling a juice cup, on the phone, wiping someone's ass and contemplating the idea of being married, not to a man, but to his family.) When he's at the gym, the focus is on the moment, in the excercise -- AT THE GYM. When I'm at the gym, I'm rushing though everything . . .not enjoying much of anything because surely, the child care pager will alert right when I'm buck-ass naked in the shower.

We talked about this just tonight . . . "don't let it bother you" . . . he tells me for the millionth time this year -- not to mention this decade. And, I can't help but think. . . "but it DOES bother me." To not let "I-T" . . the great unmentionable, elephant in the living room NOT bother me would be in direct opposition to the very fiber of my being. So here, we boil things down to fibers . . . . And have to wonder . . . on the compartmetnalizing thing . . can it be learned? Can this rub off on me? Can I pick this up from the Master?

Or, perhaps the better question is: Should I be saying "no, let it bother YOU. You're the one that's all jacked up. I'm perfectly normal."