Crazy Train

To ensure the sanity of a household, it is necessary to have one parent who maintains a calm, reserved, level-headed composure during times of stress.

On Black Friday, I assumed this role. Alex played The Crazy.

In his defense, there comes a time when every parent lets out The Crazy. As said individual, nothing you say or do makes sense but by-God a point must be proven so you push forward and teach your child a lesson... no matter how many people begin to stare.

Around 10:00am on the busiest shopping day of the year Alex and I decided to take our 23-month old daughter to Toys R Us. There have been many {MANY} stupid decisions I have made in my life.

None compare to this.

We toss ourselves into the wave of bodies flooding the store. I hear myself promising to grab "one thing" and we'll be out in "just a minute". Honestly I thought "one thing" and "just a minute" were going to be true statements. Did I accidentally stuff hallucinogenic drugs into my turkey the night before? What was I thinking?

Our first clue should have been the big blue arrows taped to the floor. These arrows indicated the direction the check-out line would follow.... and they began at the front door. Not to be discouraged we quickly navigated through the front half of the store and retrieved our intended purchase. Yet somehow our cart had already become full. Several other items had crept into our blue buggy because the term "sale" is synonymous with "sub-consciously-grab-whatever-you-can-and-throw-it-in-the-cart". Alex and I glanced at each other sheepishly and put back the extra toys.

It was at this moment a giant box of hula hoops became visible. To our surprise Addie reached out and shouted, "Loo-Loop! Please!" This is a child who rarely ever gets new toys. Birthday. Christmas. Garage-sale bargains. That's it. She's fine with it, since she knows no different. With Christmas only a few weeks away, we figured 'Why not?'. It's a $5 piece of circular joy. I took it out of the box and handed it to her. She toddled away happily, carrying the toy at just the right height so that she ran into everything.

By this time Alex was done shopping. He wanted the fastest route to the shortest line, no passing go, no picking up an extra game of Monopoly. So what does he do? Grabs the hula-hoop tosses it and Addie into the cart and sprints to the register. The next few moments are a blur. Hula hoops and hands began to fly. An ear-splitting scream silenced all of aisles 3, 4 and 5. In the middle of it all lay my daughter kicking wildly, salivating like a rabid animal, and my husband insisting Addie stop crying "this instant". He even had the shaking finger point stance going on.

Mortified that I had to admit I was related to this, I walked up to the scene to offer assistance. Addie quickly settled down and agreed to keep her hula hoop in the cart. I asked Alex if he could retrieve the hula-hoop he'd flung clear across the store. Begrudgingly he complied and brought back the toy. But wouldn't let Addie touch it.

Side note: Is it written into the DNA of men that as soon as they have a child they become children themselves? You just saw this kid have a nuclear meltdown over this hunk of BPA-infested plastic. You're really going to tease her now? Another deafening shriek ensued. {where did she learn that?!} He insisted "See? She's being a brat. We're not buying the toy". His intention was to teach her that just because she screams does not mean she gets what she wants. Little did he know I was about to start my own round of screaming too.

But like I said earlier, one of you has got to be the cool cucumber. I gathered my two children plus one hula hoop and ushered everyone through the line and to the car. I smiled as people passing glanced at us, silently thankful that their child {and husband} were not The Crazies.

Confession Sunday

I called in sick to church. Bad. I was supposed to teach Sunday school. Even worse. My co-teacher, my husband, also faked illness. Oh Lord.

Who does that?!

We have no {good} excuse. Boils and lightning and all sorts of plague are going to rain down on our street now, I just know it.

But in my defense, it's been a long time coming. (The calling in sick not the pestilence)

We have been struggling with our church. Mainly because we don't speak to any other members of the congregation. It's a small piece that creates a big impact. The fault lies on both sides {theirs and ours}. My husband can't see himself drinking a beer with anyone {the most basic of his human interaction levels} and therefore has no desire to attempt friendship. I find the odd sense of cattiness between the women disturbing and not at all appealing. Our love of the sermons, the message, and the challenge we leave with every Sunday to become better Christians can't erase the basic fellowship that's severely lacking.

I am not alone in my distaste. Others are facing similar struggles at their own place of worship. More often it's the people, not the pulpit, with whom they find grievance. Of course this solid evidence and research comes from coffee talks with friends, magazine articles, blogs and some good ol fashion Facebook spying.

To me, it boils down to this - the reason a church not only survives but thrives is the congregation. You can go anywhere for a sermon. You can hear a sermon online, read it in a book, there's even an app for that. People go to church because they want the human connection. Therefore a church needs to be a place of open hearts and acceptance. I don't want to play the "Judge Thee Up and Down Game" upon walking in the front door.

I am not concerned that we have moved back to square one. We'll find our place and it will be at the perfect moment. Until then I will enjoy my blessings: an extra 30 minutes of sleep and warm cup of coffee on a cold Sunday morning that will be thoroughly enjoyed in my slippers and flannel pants.

Gender Neutral is a Positive Thing

I will keep this short because I am afraid I might get a bit out of control. I do have a tendency to get on my wee lil soapbox after all.

My drive home from work takes less than ten minutes. But in those 15 miles I had to drive past two gruesome sites where a car had taken the life of a dog. There are so many things I want to say but I will boil it down to three major bullet points:

1) SPAY AND NEUTER YOUR PETS! Unless you are a) an experienced breeder or b) the only inhabitant of a deserted island, then your animal should be fixed. Done. End of story.

2) Microchip your pet. Yes, you may have a fence. Sure, you have indoor dogs/cats. It doesn't matter. Anything can happen and your pet could get out at any time. By having the microchip (and keeping it up-to-date) you are insuring you and your furry baby are just one step closer to being reunited should your pet get out.

3) If you have to give up your pet for some reason, do so humanely and responsibly. This last point is mainly for people in the armed services, since this seems to be a phenomenon so common to these individuals. There is no reason a deployment should equate to opening your front door and just letting your animal loose. There are shelters, foster programs, family or friends who can care for these animals. AND FURTHERMORE, if you are in a career that requires you to leave the country for months at a time, don't be a dumb-ass and buy another living being without having a proper caretaker in place when you're away.

There. I feel better. Although my heart still hurts for those dogs. My public service announcement is over and I leave you with my stray turned rescue who only sucks sometimes.

"Shia" aka "Pain-in-the-Ass" aka "Chitty-Moo-Moo"

Pillow Talk

Alex and I have started something new in the bedroom. After nearly 10 years together, five as husband and wife, we’re trying things we’ve never done before. And it’s all because our bodies are falling apart.

{Background}

For the past two weeks I have been suffering from a serious case of runner’s knee. {I think. This is more of a WebMD diagnosis because I don’t want to see a real doctor. Let’s hope it’s not some flesh eating bacteria or something equally clinic visit worthy.} I’m hobbling around wincing in pain every time I have to squat down. It’s wretched and if my legs weren’t my favorite body part, I consider amputation.

My poor husband fell asleep in our armchair and woke up with a knot in his back. The bulk of his Sunday afternoon equated to hobbling around, sighing heavily every time he bent over and muttering the occasional “oomph”. Pitiful.

Am I exaggerating? Let’s just say Addie found great enjoyment in following us around. Holding her lower back, dragging her leg behind her, she even perfected the deflating balloon noise as she bent over. Funny.

{Fast-forward to Sunday night, 10:00pm}

We migrate into the bedroom. Alex splays himself across the bed, cursing the evil armchair, making empty threats that he will bring said chair to Goodwill. Like a good life partner I offer some assistance and spend the next 30 minutes testing my amateur chiropractic skills. I’m pushing, pulling and cracking all the while spouting my random knowledge of Icy-Hot, Flexall and heating pads.

He returns the favor by massaging my soon-to-be-a-prosthetic knee and attempting to stretch my hamstring by hauling my feet up and over my head. {amidst my whimpers of “ow quit it OW”} True to form he offers his {unsolicited} advice of healthcare practitioners and athletic equipment.

Exhausted after all the commotion, we pass out. It’s 10:35pm.

At this point ya’ll are probably expecting my “Where did the magic go?” soapbox.

Honey, let me tell you …

When you find a man that will pull your big toe over your head and rub your hammie only expecting you to crack his back and apply some Bengay in return… that’s a man worth keeping.

Cuteness Overload

I read an article the other day stating that after the age of 25 women gain an average of 1 to 3 pounds every year.

Crap.

Since Addie's arrival I have been much more aware of those illusive 5 {okay maybe 10} extra pounds. Mostly because they all seemed to make a mass migration around my middle. They chose the weakest spot on my body {because my mediocre abs gave up around month 5 of my pregnancy} and set up shop. Now it's impossible not to notice their existence. And we are not friends.

When Addie was an infant I would occasionally find the energy for some yoga, pilates, really any activity that I could consider "active" while still lying on the floor. Let's face it, that first year you're exhausted. But after a year I had no more excuses, so I began to run.

Now, this act in itself is astonishing. To give you some insight, when I was in HS my gym teacher once told me the kid in the wheelchair ran faster than me. Even though she was a bitch, I had to agree with her. I hated running.

A year later I have run in eight 5ks, two 5-mile races and a half marathon. I have not even come CLOSE to winning any of them. But I haven't come in last either. And I have yet to fall down dead prior to the finish line... so that's a plus.

To increase my speed and performance my husband offered his {unsolicited} advice and insisted I needed some strength training.

Enter Neno Mora. Yep. Neno {knee-NO} Mora {More-ah}. My first thought, "I won't neno no mora after a workout with him". And this is the entire reason I signed up for the classes... because of my nerdy play on words. Luckily its been a good choice.

I only have three classes left. Then I have to come up with a new game plan. Hmmm... Oh and the pictures scattered throughout - that's just because she's so freakin cute.

The Jealous Type

Envy has brought me back to the blogosphere. Pure and unadulterated envy.

I thought when Alex came home I would find the time to blog more, design more, relax... no never really considered the last one would be an option. But I did think I would get a break once in awhile and find time to keep up with the crafting and the writing.

Since he's been back however we've been busier than ever. I love it. Truly. Wouldn't change a thing. Until I stumble upon this alternate universe and desperately want a life-makeover.

You see, I have been silently stalking {and admiring} a group of women who have managed to attain my Holy Grail of life status. #1 They {most likely} work from home... their charming, perfectly manicured, magazine-decorated homes. #2 The manage to keep their plethora of children always smiling, sans snotty noses, well dressed and willing to pose for a camera (and somehow they are all prodigies in the realm of photography). #3 They somehow find the time (and income) to shop constantly, find wicked bargains and create insanely awesome crafts/blogs/websites/graphic designs. {frustrated sigh}

I'm in high school... they're the cool crowd. I'm the band nerd holding the trumpet with {what I'd like to imagine} hidden potential.

WTF? On one blog (that will remain nameless solely for the fact that I'm about to do some trash-talking) the woman devotes an entire post to how she ties a scarf. Are you serious? Then she posts pictures of her recently decorated nursery (of which she SELLS her design ideas), handmade holiday cards (starting at $130) and all the comments are "oooh how cute", "just placed my order", "I love you" and other ridiculousness.

Bitter much? Whatever, I fully disclosed this was an envy driven post. So quit judging.

I think I'm going to start fresh. And by fresh I mean A) completely copy this lifestyle or B) steal their SSN, hunky firefighter husband and overwhelmingly adorable sense of style. Hmmm... I see a potential Lifetime movie brewing here.

ENTER JESSICA'S GAME PLAN

New blog. Not sure what it's going to be yet.

New career path. Not much planning has gone into that either.

New wardrobe. Ehh, that's still a pipe dream.

Stay tuned. Big changes. Tell your friends. Or don't... I don't need the added pressure to perform.