I had a conversation 2 mornings ago. And of course I sit here wondering if I should have said what I did. I am pretty sure who I was talking to agreed and seriously though, Bitch is crazy! Just for the record, I said it in nicer words than that.
You know those dreams that you wake up from and think wow, that was a crazy dream? It seemed so real. Everything was so vivid and memorable. Well, I had one of those dreams a couple nights ago.
I am pretty sure most couples have that one person who would be a free pass. The one person who you know that your significant other will never have relations with but if they ever get the chance you know they would go full speed ahead. That lustful person has no idea you even exist, much less know how you envision them. They are your idea of perfection. Everything about them is what you dream of. Which is why it’s a dream. There is a very slim chance of anything becoming of it. That’s what is so awesome about dreams. You can cheat without the actual cheating part.
So, a couple nights ago I had a dream that my free pass came true. Only when I woke up I was sadly disappointed. That’s not how that was supposed to go! Why was it not awesomely mindblowing? I had always envisioned it being the best exchange of two people that had ever been.
He is so well spoken, creative, artistic, and not to mention one of the hottest guy I have ever seen. He seems so generous and down to Earth. Maybe if he reads this he will prove my dream wrong. I guess he would have to know that I exist first.
As I have probably mentioned before, I have three kids. Not realizing that with one kid I would have to get rid of my sporty 2 door car with the dual exhaust and the engine mods. I couldn’t put the carseat in the front seat because there was an airbag, and the carseat physically could not fit into the back seat. That posed a problem.
I found a Chevy Blazer. I could settle with that. It didn’t have the speed or the shine of my car, but it had 4 wheel drive which was pretty freaking awesome. No more worrying about potholes or being block in. Merging? Yeah, I could merge like a beast. I could also fit tons of crap in the back, and I could tow shit. Score!
Until #3 was on the way. I went to install the carseat base in-between the booster and carseat and I couldn’t. I rearranged again and again to no avail. Crap! I measured the carseats to see who wide the backseat would have to be. The only feasible idea was to get a minivan. It was the best on gas, interior space, but gah! I didn’t want to be a minivan mom. I had loathed minivan moms when I was in my car. They swerved all over the place, couldn’t maintain speed, and you could smell the old french fries and poopy diapers at a red light.
I have now been a minivan mom for 6 years. That is 6 years longer than I had ever planned. It has not been bad. It rides like a car, I can fit loads of people, the stereo is nice, dual climate control, and decent gas milage. The downside is that I can never make time to clean it out. Between running the kids from place to place, trying to keep food in the house, and attempting to make money, cleaning the van quickly gets pushed to the end of the list. My car would have never looked like this. But this is not my car. And it does smell of old french fries and melted crayons.
I watch car commercials on tv and think about the car I would want to have next. Something sporty of course. Something with a good stereo, a sweet sounding exhaust, and something I could take people off the line with. Something with some bells and whistles but not enough to weigh it down. Something that I wouldn’t let my kids ride in.
Today it was sunny and in the 80’s. As child #3, the dog and I walked down the driveway to wait for the bus excitement was in the air.
The dog was excited because he was outside. Fresh grass, fresh air, and tons of trees to investigate for strange scents.
Child #3 has been waiting for 3 years to be riding a bus and going to school just like the older two. He had his backpack was full of tissues, glue sticks, and a Mario lunch bag. He wanted crackers and yogurt with sprinkles. The snack of 4 year old champions!
We were all smiling. I was snapping pictures. The dog was even posing. Then it got to be about 10 minutes after our supposed pick up time. I started to wonder if the 10 minutes early we went out was not enough. Then we hear it. It sounds like a bus. Could it be? Yes, the bus! He jumped up and down, fists clenched with more enthusiasm than really necessary for getting onto a cheese wagon. I was excited too at the thought of not having to make two trips into town.
We all three walked across the road. I realized that the dog must have been excited to get on the bus too. Mr. W. smiled. He had been the bus driver at our old house and remembered us. I think child #3 flew up the stairs into the bus because I didn’t get the magical picture I had planned in my head.
The doors closed. I crossed the street. I waved at the bus but I don’t know if he was looking or even tall enough to see out of the window. As I turned around to head back to the house I started to blubber like someone killed my cat. What the heck was wrong with me? Was he going to be okay on the bus? What if he gets lost? He only has 4 years and a couple months of training for the real world!
Then I remember he is my kid. He knows what to do if zombies attack. He told me about it yesterday. He knows what to do if there is a fire or someone gets hurt. He may be small but he has a big voice. He is tough and resilient and he does have two older siblings who have taught him all they know.
My biggest worry should really be that he spills his snack, or that he flashes someone. Because at 4, modesty is just a waste of time.
I can only imagine what my parents thought when I kept insisting that I wanted to race in a demolition derby. They finally gave in and I was actually good at it. I did get a little banged up sometimes but those bruises and scrapes were earned.
When you are passionate about what you do, you will most likely be good at it. It just seems to come more naturally. I am not very passionate about being on a boat but am very passionate and hurling over the side almost every single time I step on a boat. The thought of doing the deed on a boat at night, being out in the open, fresh air, no one but Google Earth to witness it. Then the thought of me naked, heaved over the side of a boat just about kills that daydream.
I was sitting in the ER awaiting x-ray results and some stitches for son #1. I was stressed about how to get back to the track because we got a ride to the hospital and he started to cry. I asked if it was hurting that bad and he replied “No. I am going to miss second practice.” Seriously! You have a 3/4” long 1/4” deep lac on your lateral something or other (as stated by the EMT) and you are not crying because we can almost see the bone in your wrist but because your heart loves nothing more than motocross.
At that moment I felt like I had earned another patch for my mommy vest. I knew what fear, hope, guilt and love felt like, all at the same time. I wanted to bubble wrap him and tell him no more motocross. That would kill him as a person. He would most likely never talk to me again and hate my guts forever. Even though I pray more on these weekends than any other day of the year, and I swear I am going to go bald, I will go bald for him. I will try to get him the best gear. I will try to watch every race. I will drive through VA traffic in a truck with a bad alternator for him. I will get a tow 1 mile from the track for him. I will sleep in a tent 2 weekends a month for him, and eat hotdogs heated in a pot sitting on the engine for him. I will hold his wrist back together over his head until the EMT’s arrive. I will give him 2 Ibuprofen and beg for him to be able to practice with a different class because the hospital took too long and we got back as his last class was coming off. I will cheer him on to go faster and jump higher. I will feel guilty for allowing him to be in danger. I will be proud to see the pride on his face when he exits the track after a good ride. If that is not passion, I don’t know what is.
And that leads me to another post about drinking because drinking is legal and a lot of other things aren’t.
The only thing I like more than motocross and Triscuits is seeing Butch Walker live!
Ok, so you know this little Documentary movie that we told you about a hundred years ago called “Out Of Focus” that these dudes Peter and Shane did on yours truly? FINALLY it is coming to select theaters and Networks! the exact theaters and times are coming soon, but immediately following the…
I love looking at the blog reasonsmysoniscrying. Some of the pictures and the reasons are hilarious. They are hilarious because you can not hear their little whiney voices. If those parents are anything like me they can’t stand whining either.
I felt like I was constantly telling my kids to stop whining. Then they stopped. The results are not what you are expecting. When they would typically whine about something I would typically just block it out. Now they are louder, which in theory is harder to block out. Hmm. I didn’t think about that.
Also, when one is whining “I don’t like soup.” or “It smells bad in here.” or “I don’t want to play with Luke. He is (insert random kid adjectives)” or “My underwear is sticking to me.” Again, it is in a lower tone and a language that is harder to recognize or understand. If one is standing in line with their non-whining child and the child makes some remark that would normally be whined out, it comes off as being rightious or demanding and sometimes a very bold statement.
So, before you decide that you don’t want your child to whine, make sure those whine-free times are discussed ahead of time.
My morning started at 6:30…hit the snooze button…6:40 hit the snooze button…6:50 make a mental note to change the snooze settings because 10 minutes feels exactly the same as 2 in snooze minutes.
Come down to make my coffee and realize I never switched the laundry last night. Only to realize that I never started the washer. The reason for that load needs to be washed and dried by 8:30.
Come back to the kitchen to finish making coffee and it is running low so I start a list. Write coffee and try to remember the other stuff people are out of. Cat has been meowing and one would think she is truly being starved. Feed the cat and then go back to stir my now rock formation of powdered creamer. Good morning, Eastern Shore!
Parents drink because kids fight. They fight over stupid things like who has the cooler stick. I guess when your seven things like that really matter.
Parents drink because their kids can’t or won’t get dressed. My sock doesn’t fit right. I can’t find my Mario shirt. I can only find one shoe.
Parents drink because kids do stupid things. They sip water off the back bumper of the van. They pry the dogs eyelids open and touch his eyeball because it looked shiny. They stick their hand in your glass because they want a piece of ice.
Parents drink because kids talk…a lot, and make random noises. When you have a phone call one will either talk about poop or makes fart noises. They will spill random facts at even more random times.
Parents drink because one child fails to try on thier snow pants, water shoes. etc. and just says yeah, they fit. Then a month later when it snows, or we go crabbing, or to a wedding and either their arms grew 3” or they lied about trying on the dress shirt a couple weeks earlier.
Parents drink because that’s all they have time to do, they don’t have to share, and who am I kidding? I would pour myself a drink but I need to run one to t-ball and one to scouts.
Since I started my blog almost two years ago, people have been telling me “YOU SHOULD GO ON ELLEN!” They scream it at me actually, hence the caps lock. My response was always “I’d love to, but she’s very difficult to get in touch with.” I kept the idea in the back of my mind until I felt it was…
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