Embrace the Crazy

A few times now I’ve gotten complimented or referred to as though I somehow had my shit together, which is funny…because I’m bat-shit crazy.

Once an acquaintance of mine asked how I managed to keep the kids so well behaved and the house so clean and orderly.  I took her to my room and showed her a hell-hole even the world’s most dedicated hoarder would be terrified of.  Dirty clothes covered every inch of the floor.  I had ten minutes from the time I knew she was coming to the time she would arrive, and in a frantic haste I threw a broken bar stool, some large, dirty pots and a fish tank overgrown with algae on the bed.  You read that right…a fish tank.  On my bed.  As far as keeping the kids well behaved, I told her that up until the second she knocked on my door, the little one was trying to wipe a booger on the girl as she was trying to dunk him in the toilet.

Another time, my family spent the day on the beach with another family from my husband’s work.  During part of a conversation, the wife referred to me as “laid back” and “calm.”  I was flattered to be described that way, so later I was telling my husband about it.  He laughed and laughed, then looked confused and said “It must’ve been because you were drinking on the beach all day.”  This girl saw me sipping a margarita and smiling as my sundress danced around my ankles, my children giggling and hugging me while I dipped my toes in the lake.  The sun set in a golden sky as waves crashed gently to the shore.  She missed the episode earlier in the day, when the cooler was moldy and I was storming around the house screaming swear words in my “Satan voice” at the top of my lungs because I couldn’t find the stupid beach umbrella, while the kids beat the crap out of each other in the living room and the dog was scooting his butthole across the kitchen floor.

I get super proud when I realize I’m good at hiding my crazy.  I’ve actually printed up a list of signs and symptoms of a nervous breakdown, because I spend the majority of my life on the edge of insanity and I want to be ready…just in case.  Of course there are some calm times, when I think I might actually know what I’m doing.  There are times when we’re gathered around the table during family game night, laughing and consumed with happiness, and as I look around at my family, peace fills every crack of my heart.  Then the little guy will irritate his big sister, who will in turn slam his face down into a cupcake causing him to sneeze sprinkles for a week.  Dad will start yelling about how the kids are going to drive him crazy, which makes me feel defensive so I start yelling about how if anyone gets to go crazy around here I go first.  (My family is going to make one lucky team of therapists very rich someday.)

Seriously though, none of us really have our shit together.  Some of us are just better at hiding it than others.  We’re all struggling to make it through this life doing the least amount of damage to ourselves and the one’s we love.  Embrace the insanity and enjoy the crazy.  It’s what makes life so interesting.

A quick shout out to my fellow “insane sister,” who left the most amazing message in my inbox for me.  Thank you for thinking I had my shit together, and thanks even more for letting me know I’m not alone in my insanity.  I’m so glad you found my blog!

Fearless Friday

Funny Memes

We all have fears.  Some of them are perfectly natural, like a fear of death, a fear of heights, or a fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth.  What, it’s a real thing…

I’m pretty sure I have an excessive amount of fear.  I’m basically a chihuahua trapped in a woman’s body.  Some of my fears are legit, but most of them are irrational.  I read that to overcome a fear, you have to do the thing that scares you over and over until you’re not a pussy about it anymore.  So this week I decided to begin conquering my first irrational fear.

A fear of highway driving.  It’s okay, you can laugh. I have no idea where this stupid fear even came from, I’ve never had a bad experience on the highway. Most people love the open road.  You get to go fast, there’s no stoplights interrupting your flow and it’s the straightest shot from point A to point B.  For me though, it looks more like a demolition derby of angry strangers foaming at the mouth who are all packing heat and ready to kill me.

So we took our annual trip to the waterpark up in Wisconsin, and I decided to drive the second half of the way.  I took off from a rest stop, accelerating and glancing over to find my place in the sea of missiles on wheels, and made it into the flow of traffic with no problems. I drive a Hummer, which is pretty much a tank, so if nobody moved over to let me merge I was pretty sure I could just move them myself.

My heart was palpitating, my ass was sweating…and the seat heater wasn’t even on.  My husband was in charge of the music.  Suddenly “Highway to Hell” starts playing over the car speakers.  I wanted to flip him the bird, but I was sure if I took my hand off the wheel we’d go flying through the air in a spiralling death twist.  I would’ve shot him a dirty look but I had to keep my eyes on the road, so I just told him that he wasn’t funny, which is a lie because he’s freaking hilarious.  He switched it to Snoop Dogg’s “Gin and Juice” and I started to wonder if we packed any alcohol because I was going to need a drink after this.

I had to switch lanes so I glanced to my left to check the blind spot and a car was speeding up next to me.  I noticed the driver, and for a second he looked like Satan pointing a gun at me, but it turns out he was just a tiny little old man smiling as he moved ahead.  After I stopped hyperventilating I was able to switch lanes and make that highway my bitch.

I wouldn’t say I’ve conquered the ridiculous fear of highway driving, but I’m off to a good start.  On to the next dumb fear…eating at a restaurant alone.

Winter Blues

why do i live where my face hurts - Google Search:

So this is the time of year when I get very restless.  I function best when I can get out and spend time in nature, but if it’s cold enough to cut glass with my nipples I tend to go into hibernation mode. Don’t get me wrong…I love hiding in my house, drinking hot chocolate and building forts with the kids, but lately I’ve been feeling all blah.  I slept in pretty late today, and woke up to the kids poking me with a stick.  The little one thought I was dead.

I was looking on the internet and found an article called 2 Minutes to a Happier You.  I think two minutes is aiming a little high.  I can’t do anything in two minutes, you’re already setting me up for failure.  Anyway, I decided to read through the options and try a few.

1.  Munch on nuts.  Actually, that sounds like something to lift my husband’s mood.  What else you got?

3. Inhale a calming scent.  At this point, I’m pretty sure I could snort Lavender oil and still feel like I want to poke my eyes out with a toothpick.  Next.

4.  Open your shades.  Well this one seemed promising so I gave it a try.  I saw gray skies, dead trees, freezing rain, and two dogs humping in the neighbor’s yard.  Eww, moving on…

5.  Walk around the block.  No.  Just…no.

10.  Put on a happy face.  Ahh, the old “fake it til you make it” trick.  I was willing to try anything so I plastered a huge, fake smile on my face, but I just came across like a crazy person and it started to scare the kids.  My daughter thought I was plotting something.

Turns out that Wine Wednesday with a few of my friends was all I needed to ward off insanity.  Now if I could just get everyone on board for Moonshine Mondays and Tequila Tuesdays…

people pleaserSo I’m a people pleaser.  Do you know the type?  I’m a Libra AND an INFP…yeah, it’s that bad.  I will sacrifice my self respect and dignity if it means making someone else happy.  I’ll be unfathomably uncomfortable as long as it ensures someone else gets to be comfortable, even if I can’t stand that someone else.  I have to tell you, it’s exhausting…and I hate myself a little more each time I avoid the discomfort of confrontation in order to maintain peace.

It’s great to be civil and think of others first.  But at some point you have to say “enough is enough” or “that bitch can’t treat me that way.”  I mean, boundaries are healthy, right?

Just once, I’d like to be the asshole.

Now I’m not suggesting giving in to my every whim would be a good idea.  I can’t just walk up to people I don’t like and kick them right in the vagina, because I hear that would be rude or whatever.  But I can define my limit, and it’s okay for me to expect that I’m treated with the dignity and respect that I deserve.

I am not a doormat.  I am a good person, dammit.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a voodoo doll to assemble.

It’s Hard to be a Middle Aged Woman at a Waterpark

So we took our annual trip to Kalahari Resorts and Indoor Water Park, which is always a blast.  As a mother it’s my “job” to watch my kids and make sure they don’t fall into a pool, or get taken by the gypsies.  I don’t know who these gypsies are but I know they’re out there waiting to steal you.  At least that’s what Mom used to tell me.  Anyway, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to dedicate any time to watching my kids when there are more urgent situations at stake. Like the swim up Jacuzzi bar.

Also, every few steps I had to bend over to make sure my vagina wasn’t falling out of my bathing suit.  I kept feeling a draft, and I got paranoid that my girl goodies were going to make a surprise appearance.  Then I kept asking my husband how my ass looked, because gravity is a bitch.  The second I stopped doing the insanity workout, my tush resumed it’s natural position three inches lower than I want it.  Then my husband fell asleep in the lounge chair so I had to ask the three year old for booty reassurance. I asked the kid ONE time how my butt looked and he stared at me like I was absolutely insane.  Then there was the nipple issue.  I was cold and wet and needed to make sure that both of them were pointing in the same direction.  There’s nothing more awkward than two nipples pointing in opposite directions.  It’s distracting, like lizard eyes.  So I kept blatantly looking down at my girls, because there’s really no way to discreetly do it.  People probably thought I was being narcissistic and I wanted to explain “No, I actually hate myself, it’s just a simple nipple check!”   I finally gave up and put my daughter in charge.  I told her if she noticed my nipples going rogue she needed to let me know so I could line them back up.  She asked if she could have a more socially acceptable chore, like scrubbing toilets or doing dishes.  Whatever.  Next year I’m going in a wetsuit.

I Resolve To Have Resolutions

Well 2013 was an amazing year!  I managed to stay out of prison for the 36th consecutive year in a row, my husband hasn’t smothered me in my sleep, yet.  AND I was able to put off my first mammogram.

I took a look at last years resolutions and had a good laugh.  I never actually follow through with any of my resolutions.  The only reason I make them in the first place is because of peer pressure.  All the cool people are doing it.  I make my resolutions before midnight on the 31st and by 2 a.m. I’ve already forgotten what I resolved to do.  So I’ve discovered a different way to do resolutions that may work better for me.  12 Months 12 Challenges.  Instead of cramming a million resolutions into the whole year, I’ll break it down month by month.  Baby steps.

For January’s challenge, I’m simplifying my house using a book called 30 Days to a Simpler Life by Connie Cox & Chris Evatt.  Clearly Connie and Chris have never been to my home.  It’s going to take me 30 days just to simplify my closet.  I’m thinking about getting rid of the majority of my husbands clothes.  That’ll be easier than parting with my own.  I’ll let you know how it goes.

In the meantime, I wish you all a safe and happy new year, filled with love, health, and lots of sparkly things.  Thanks for sticking with me through 2013!

What about you?  What kind of resolutions do you have planned?

On New Puppies and Poop

 

 

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Look at those angry eyebrows!

So this is Puck (as in hockey puck), the newest addition to the Rochon household.  Aside from eating cat poop, he’s very smart and follows basic commands.  In addition, he understands “Puck drop” “Puck no” and “Puck off”.  He is part German Shepherd, and part Shar Pei.

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See? Shar Pei.

He’s adorable, he’s cuddly, and he poops. A LOT.  We got Puck at six weeks old and so of course he’s not potty trained at all.  At first I was all “Awww, he’s jus’ a widdow puppy!” Six weeks later I’m like “Why the hell won’t this demon spawn just shit outside?”

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Demon Spawn

The three-year old was standing next to me one time when I found a stinky little gift the puppy left for me on the bedroom floor.  I yelled across the house to my husband “PUCK SHIT ON THE FLOOR AGAIN!”  My son looks up at me and with the biggest, bluest eyes he says very matter of fact…”I don’t do that.  I shit in the potty.”

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