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Friday, November 24, 2017

...But The Foodies

SoCo.  SoCo, SoCo, SoCo...  I'm lucky in that I don't think there is anyone who doesn't love my dog.  She's pretty awesome, and obviously I'm a huge fan.  ...except when I'm trying to cook.  ...especially when I'm trying to cook Thanksgiving dinner.

This year I took over the longstanding Thanksgiving dinner tradition from my mom.  In an effort to make her transition more bearable, she came to "assist" me with all the cooking.  And so did SoCo.  Every time we moved, she was underfoot, in the way, laying where I needed to walk, sniffing at the counter.

Me: UGH!  SoCo, you gotta move!
SoCo: I.  Am.  Dog...and there is foodies.  I can have foodies?
Me: NO!  It's Thanksgiving.  It's not for you, and you're not allowed people food.
SoCo: ...but you drop the things on the floor.  And I eats them.  I can have foodies?
My Mom: SoCo, honey...I'm not going to drop anything on the floor.  Shooo!
SoCo: But Granny; you love me and I love the foodies.  I can have your foodies?
Mom: No!  I'm not gonna drop anything.
Me: Dog!  Go bark at squirrels or something.
SoCo: But the sniffies...
Mom: GET!

At this point, she huffs at my mother, and dejectedly walks two feet away and throws herself on the floor in the doorway to the family room, with her head facing us.

Dips are made, snack trays are laid out, stuffing is prepped, mixed and our group effort begins to shove it up this bird's ass.  In our attempts a few gobs fall on the floor.  That dog is up like a rocket and that stuffing was gobbled faster than a turkey...well...fast.  OK?

SoCo: I am dog and that was delicious.
Me: Thanks, now get out.
SoCo: But the foodies.  I must help you.  You don't want to step on that in your slippers.  Yuck.
Me: IT'S GONE, YOU ATE IT!
Mom: GET!

Again with the huffing and throwing on the floor.

Fast forward to turkey carving.  Now, there are four grown adults in the kitchen.  Countless people milling about.  My husband attempts to use two forkey things to flip the turkey over for his first carving in our new home.

Me & Mom in unison: NOOOOOOO!  It's falling apart!  DOOOOOOON'T.



Once more, rocket dog is there, somehow in between my husband and the island in front of him and the pieces that drop don't even stand a chance.

SoCo: I am dog and I knew you loved me best.  Thank you Daddy, that was yummy!

I guess patience does have it's benefits.  From my family and fat dog to yours - Happy Thanksgiving!

Friday, November 17, 2017

When Not Enough Becomes Too Much

Lately, I've seen so many posts about 'Women who are too much' like this one, and have totally related.  I've been too loud.  Too outspoken.  Too vulgar.  Too intimidating.  Too opinionated.  Too smart for my own good.

But on the flip side, I lived a life in stark contrast to that and have also been deemed not enough.  Not pretty enough.  Not thin enough.  Not patient enough.  Not pleasant enough.  Didn't try enough.

Perplexing, is it not, to be too much yet not enough all at the same time?  Why is it that other people feel the need to create standards that I am supposed to feel that I should live up to?  What is it about the concepts of too much and not enough that have become such a standardized means of human value that many judge their own personal worth when weighed against?

See, here's the thing: I AM ENOUGH.  AND I CAN NEVER BE TOO MUCH.  I'm a human being...not a cheesecake.  [OK, maybe not the best analogy because, honestly, there really can never be enough cheesecake; but I'm fairly certain the point has been received]

As I've been teaching my children - you give your best all of the time.  It's never too much, because well, it's the best you've got and the world needs all the best anyone has to give.  And you're never not enough; as when you've given your best, it's all you've got and it will never fall short.  You can't just "try harder" if you've already given it the max you could.  And the thing that I feel that where the fault lies is the perception that a human should be the best at all they endeavor rather than focusing on the happiness in the perseverance.  Or conversely that you're become too much because you have risen to the best in a category.

For example:  I will never be known for my patience.  But what I do have is enough.  And it runs short.  Quickly.  But, I continue to try and I give it my all and bite my tongue and clench my hands when I'm frustrated.  And it's enough...  Always.  And I'm happy with my efforts, because if I weren't, it would mean that I'm not trying my hardest.  So: enough.

To address the too much: I've been accused of being too intimidating more times than I can count.  By men I can only assume don't appreciate women who are more intelligent than they are, and by women I once more assume do not value their own intellect enough and seek to flip it into my issue of being too much.  I'm smart.  Crazy smart.  Smart on a level most don't understand.  I've spent too much of my life not being normal enough and hiding it.  And when I let that flag fly in all it's glory it's way too much for most. 

No one forces you to be friends with those you have grown to think are too much or not enough.  If someone else's best efforts fall short for you or are over the top - walk away.  Be kind in the moment and find another group to surround yourself with.  And if you're constantly being told to tone it down or to step it up when putting forth your all, look for those that will appreciate you and the gifts you have to give.  They're out there.

In my entire life I've found one man who has never uttered the words 'too much' or 'not enough' when referring to me.  I've never been too smart for him.  I've never been too outspoken.  And my best has always been ample because he knows I'm trying.  He's never tried to make me feel inferior.  That's who I choose to be around.  So, I married him.

And of my female friends...well, there's not many.  And that's ok.  All of them are enough.  Enough to be great friends and all I need.  And they know who they are.  And they're special; each one.  And they make me feel special, and that is all that matters.

So when you feel like you relate to the posts that you are too much or not enough - ask yourself if you've given your all, change your perspective and realize that you're just right the way you already are.  Enough is enough and never too much.

Friday, November 10, 2017

I'll Filth Your Foul Filth...

Long ago, I thought my children became immune to swearing.  It's no secret that I have a blatant love affair with dirty words.  I just can't help myself.  They flow out of my mouth before I can even take the time to realize that I've even cussed seven ways to Sunday until it's already been uttered.  Well, f#ck me...

Anyways, I thought they were words that my kids knew as "Grown up words".  [words that grown ups can say when their mom isn't going to get called into the principal's office if they let leash upon the general population.  I mean, only I will get in trouble for my potty mouth.] Words that they scarcely paid attention to because they heard them soooo much up in here.

Boy, was I wrong.

Let's start with the most common offender other than myself: my father.  Hmmm, guess what they say about apples and trees and all that.  This man can hardly string together a sentence without invoking the Lord himself; at least three times.  And while I prefer to spread the love and use a litany of differing curses, good ole Dad prefers Goddamn and Son-of-a-bitch. 

And the kids have kept a tally!  We've had as many as four Goddamns in a hideously run-on sentence and a whopping 30+ vulgarities total dropped in a single visit [let it be known he's usually here for about 3 hours, averaging out to over 10 blasts an hour].  Whew, that's some $h!+ indeed!

But the most recent one was the most amusing to me.  See, my brother keeps a running commentary on my obscene vernacular.  And usually after I sling about three or so in general conversation he points it out.  [shrugs]  His pristine mouth is beyond reproach...that is; unless he's doing manual labor.  Specifically, in this instance - helping to remodel my powder room.

Imagine if you would a room that's 4'x4'.  A man's legs are hanging out the door into the hallway.  And for whatever reason I cannot even remember at the moment, the Hoover Dam broke open.

"F#ck this goddamned MFing piece of $h!+ cock-sucking MFing SOB..."

I laughed.  My husband looked at me and laughed.

My son however was concerned.  Very. Concerned.  He came running into the kitchen.  "Mommy, is he ok?  I think he needs help!  It's not funny!  He needs help!  WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?!?" [...which incidentally made my laughing even more]  See, my son was terrified that something was wrong with his uncle who doesn't swear in his presence, to have caused something so alarming to happen.  I'm not sure what he feared - that a toilet somehow dropped on his head? I have no freaking clue.

Me: [shaking head]  No idea, baby.  He's frustrated.  Go play.  He's fine.

My brother: WHORE!  DIRTY FILTHY GODDAMNED...

My oldest runs in: Mommy?  He alright?  Should someone help him?

My brother comes out of the bathroom wiping his hands and glaring at us.  My husband and I lose it into a fit of laughter.

Brother: F#ck You.

Friday, November 3, 2017

Squirrel!

I have never shied away from the fact that I have the attention span of a gnat.  And never has it been more visible than since I've resumed my full-time responsibilities at FH Inc..

Every morning I make my daily To-Do List and attempt to get through it.  A To-Do List for a grown woman?  Every day?  Yes.  Because if I don't have this list...well, it's too terrifying to ponder.  Here is how the typical Friday runs down for me:

To-Do List:
Set Up This Month's Budget & Bill Pay
Change Bedding
Do Laundry
Get Stamps
Grocery Store
[this is about 1/2 my daily list...but if I can get through these items, I'll consider it a huge win]

Here is how my day actually goes:

I sit down at the computer to do budget & pay bills. I actually do set up the budget, but in my attempt to open a new tab to pay the bills, I'm sidetracked by The FB blinking that I have multiple alerts.  In the midst of checking the alerts the younger two children come downstairs bickering.

I get up, resolve their conflict and take stock of the kitchen.  I start wiping counters...which then morphs into picking up the items that don't belong in my kitchen and I complain to any living thing with ears about how crap gets left all over the place and I'm the only one picking it up, but yet strangely; none of the stuff is mine.

"I am dog.  It's not mine either, Mommy.  Can I have a cookie?"

I lean down to pet my dog.  Ugh.  She needs to be fed.  I open the pantry and scoop her food.  While in the pantry, I see nothing is put in it's 'Sleeping with the Enemy' perfect place.  I begin to shift items around and turn cans so that the label faces out.  Faces.  Gross!  I need to brush my teeth.

I head upstairs where, you guessed it, I do anything but brush my teeth.  Oh!  I'm supposed to change the bedding today!  Woohoo!  I strip my bed down.  Back down the stairs I go to put the sheets in the washer.  Great!  Something accomplished.  Man!  I forgot to bring down all the other laundry.  I go back upstairs and start in my room and see the hubs has things sitting on the hope chest.  I have to mend things.  I scoop up items and go down into the craft room.  There's mending to do!

I set his clothes that are in need of buttons replaced on the counter and stretch and turn around.  Whoa.  My yarn stash is looking a little off it's game.  I should put "Get some yarn" on my list.  Upstairs I go.  I sit down at the computer, where I left my list and write: Yarn?  Hmmm...let's see if I can remove anything off my list.  Bedding?  Nope...  Let's fix that.

I head back upstairs to put clean sheets on the bed.  Did I brush my teeth yet?

This continues all day long until the kids come home.  We sit down to get through homework and then I start dinner.  Usually about then, I'm recapping everything accomplished in a mental check and I realize that I've still not brushed my teeth.  But hey!  The house is insanely tidy and while I didn't check but one or two of the big ticket items off my list, I've done quite a bit...I've even...

I should go up and brush my teeth - "HEY!!!  Whose shoes are these piled up by the front door?!?!"