It's been a while, huh? Did ya'll think I forgot to write? ;)
I think that I'm going to take a slightly serious turn on today's blog. There's something I want to talk about, and I think that it's something we all deal with in one way or another.
Power. Or powerlessness?
I'm one of those people who (admittedly) needs to have control over things. That's my personality. I'm a Virgo, and damn it, we hate it when we feel like we do not have a handle on our worlds. Lately I've been feeling powerless in a number of ways. I'm a nurturer by nature. When something is broken, I want to fix it. I guess that sort of explains some of the sour relationships I've had in the past. Before my husband, I tended to date people who were 'broken' in one way or another, and I was always trying to fix them. Alcoholism, depression, bi-polar - you name it. If they had it, I was going to work miracles!! (Riiiight.) Leanred that lesson the hard way time and time again.
In my own life, as of late, I feel like I just cannot get any sort of grip on the issues I'm dealing with. I feel like career-wise, I'm not getting anywhere I want to be. It's not for lack of trying, or lack of experience. Maybe the timing is off? I feel like I don't make enough money, and I can't do anything about it. Second job? Sure. But then where is the family time? I'm in a complete and utter rut in this regard.
I feel like a few friends who are going through some personal things, I can't console the way I want to. I want to just pluck them out of their bad situations and make them feel better. But I know I can't. They have to do that for themselves. I know I have all my own things to worry about for sure, but that doesn't make me care any less about the people I love.
I know I'm not the only person out there that feels this way. But lately, the feeling is just overwhelming. I feel powerless in general. In my own life. In the lives of others. At my job. . .What can I do to get out of this funk?
Suggestions welcome. I gotta get my groove back.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Thursday, April 5, 2012
That Wasn't The Deal
T.G. (tomorrow's) F.
So I think I've discovered what my husband's absolute favorite quote is:
"That Wasn't The Deal"
He seems to think this can be used for anything at anytime regardless of if a 'deal' was ever even struck. It most often occurs when I ask him to do something around the house and he asks for a 'favor' in return. (No need for elaboration here). My response is usually, "Just do it, fool." This response (in his mind, anyway) triggers some sort of verbal negotiation where I somehow, unbeknownst to me, agree to whatever collateral he suggests. Then, when I do not act upon what he assumed I agreed to during his state of disillusionment, he spits out the aforementioned phrase.
Our conversations typically go a little something like this:
Me: "Hey honey, can you take out the trash?"
Him: "That Wasn't The Deal"
"Can you switch over the laundry?"
Him: "That Wasn't The Deal"
"Change the catbox, please."
Him: "That Wasn't The Deal"
When we signed that marriage license, he clearly didn't read the fine print below my signature that makes all other contracts, both verbal and written that he tries to enforce upon me, null and void. I believe this fine print is on ALL marriage licenses (under the wife's name only, of course).
So I guess the next time he asks something of me, and insists I must do it because it's my 'wifely' duty, I will simply refer to the 'fine print' on the marriage license that he signed without reading, and smile and say,
"Sorry, babe. That wasn't the deal." ;)
So I think I've discovered what my husband's absolute favorite quote is:
"That Wasn't The Deal"
He seems to think this can be used for anything at anytime regardless of if a 'deal' was ever even struck. It most often occurs when I ask him to do something around the house and he asks for a 'favor' in return. (No need for elaboration here). My response is usually, "Just do it, fool." This response (in his mind, anyway) triggers some sort of verbal negotiation where I somehow, unbeknownst to me, agree to whatever collateral he suggests. Then, when I do not act upon what he assumed I agreed to during his state of disillusionment, he spits out the aforementioned phrase.
Our conversations typically go a little something like this:
Me: "Hey honey, can you take out the trash?"
Him: "That Wasn't The Deal"
"Can you switch over the laundry?"
Him: "That Wasn't The Deal"
"Change the catbox, please."
Him: "That Wasn't The Deal"
When we signed that marriage license, he clearly didn't read the fine print below my signature that makes all other contracts, both verbal and written that he tries to enforce upon me, null and void. I believe this fine print is on ALL marriage licenses (under the wife's name only, of course).
So I guess the next time he asks something of me, and insists I must do it because it's my 'wifely' duty, I will simply refer to the 'fine print' on the marriage license that he signed without reading, and smile and say,
"Sorry, babe. That wasn't the deal." ;)
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
I Hate You, 5 a.m.
Good Evening, Readers,
Since I have nothing better to do while my professor rambles on, I figured it would be a good time to write. (No worries, I'm partially listening to him). Something about shipping transit time, inventory, objective. . . .meh. . . .no matter.
So, I woke up this morning at 5 a.m. to spend an hour working out. 5 AM!!! That's no small feat for me. Usually the alarm goes off at 5:45, and I hit snooze about 17 times before I finally roll off the bed and stumble into the shower in a sleepy, incoherent fashion. Or my husband will shut the alarm off the first time, and I forget that I was suppose to get up, and then panic sets in when I open my eyes and it's 6:15, and I need to leave at 6:30! But I digress. So, as I said - 5 a.m. this morning is when I got up.
I got dressed in my workout clothes and tromped downstairs to the basement. I did NOT want to do this. Every little part of my being just wanted to go back to bed. I stretched and turned on the treadmill. The sound of it starting just made me want to kick it. I powered up my music to get myself pumped (thank you, Pandora), and onto the motorized belt I went. I began with a brisk walk and after about 10 minutes at this pace, I began to jog. After about 25 minutes of jogging I hopped off the treadmill. Sweat was pouring into my eyes, but I felt pretty amazing - and energized. I finished up upstairs with some crunches (ow, STILL, by the way several hours later).
It's amazing to me how reluctant we, as human beings, can be to take care of our bodies. When you think about it, you only get one of these (unless, of course, your rich enough to get yours altered). I am not one of those lucky bastards. I use to LOVE working out. I use to do it religiously just before I met my husband. Everyday. After we met, I was pregnant pretty much for 2 years straight. We exercised together for a while in the middle again - and then stopped. Then a year a half ago, I picked a regimen back up, but after I started my Bachelor's Degree, again, I stopped. Why? When did taking care of myself like I should become an on-again/off-again type of romance? I have made a concious decision that I cannot keep doing that. I need to take better care of myself. It should be a habit, really.
With that being said; 5 a.m., I hate you so much, but I will see you again tomorrow.
Since I have nothing better to do while my professor rambles on, I figured it would be a good time to write. (No worries, I'm partially listening to him). Something about shipping transit time, inventory, objective. . . .meh. . . .no matter.
So, I woke up this morning at 5 a.m. to spend an hour working out. 5 AM!!! That's no small feat for me. Usually the alarm goes off at 5:45, and I hit snooze about 17 times before I finally roll off the bed and stumble into the shower in a sleepy, incoherent fashion. Or my husband will shut the alarm off the first time, and I forget that I was suppose to get up, and then panic sets in when I open my eyes and it's 6:15, and I need to leave at 6:30! But I digress. So, as I said - 5 a.m. this morning is when I got up.
I got dressed in my workout clothes and tromped downstairs to the basement. I did NOT want to do this. Every little part of my being just wanted to go back to bed. I stretched and turned on the treadmill. The sound of it starting just made me want to kick it. I powered up my music to get myself pumped (thank you, Pandora), and onto the motorized belt I went. I began with a brisk walk and after about 10 minutes at this pace, I began to jog. After about 25 minutes of jogging I hopped off the treadmill. Sweat was pouring into my eyes, but I felt pretty amazing - and energized. I finished up upstairs with some crunches (ow, STILL, by the way several hours later).
It's amazing to me how reluctant we, as human beings, can be to take care of our bodies. When you think about it, you only get one of these (unless, of course, your rich enough to get yours altered). I am not one of those lucky bastards. I use to LOVE working out. I use to do it religiously just before I met my husband. Everyday. After we met, I was pregnant pretty much for 2 years straight. We exercised together for a while in the middle again - and then stopped. Then a year a half ago, I picked a regimen back up, but after I started my Bachelor's Degree, again, I stopped. Why? When did taking care of myself like I should become an on-again/off-again type of romance? I have made a concious decision that I cannot keep doing that. I need to take better care of myself. It should be a habit, really.
With that being said; 5 a.m., I hate you so much, but I will see you again tomorrow.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Sweet 'N' Slow
I dislike Tuesdays. In fact, I dislike all of the weekdays of every week. Well, that's not entirely true. On Monday mornings, I'm slightly excited to come back to work to escape the chaos of the homelife, but come Monday afternoon, I take that back.
Like most people, I have my irritants and annoyances. I also have a lot of pet peeves. For example, I strongly dislike it when a sponge is left INSIDE the sink. It grosses me out to have to fish for that thing through piles of slimy and sticky dishes. Also, it drives me crazy when our couch cushions wind up on the floor. Might sound silly, but I hate having to remove a whole dog's worth of hair from a single cushion because it fell on the rug where a bunch of Candy and Tinsel's hair lies dormant. Doesn't seem to matter how much we vaccuum. If there's any fur left on the carpet, the cushions will find it! Another thing that urks me is when the kids don't hang up their wet towels after their showers. They just drop them in sopping heaps on their bedroom floor and hope that I don't notice.
Mothers always notice.
Oh, and don't get me going on cereal bags that get left open!
But my biggest pet peeve is people who are slower than death when I'm trying to get something done quickly. Today's near-victim of my wrath? A man at the convenience store. All I wanted was that 16 oz. coffee to get me through the rest of the day. He stood at the coffee counter with two coffee cups, preparing them at the speed of zero. I counted him opening twenty sugar packets. Twenty!! ONE. AT. A. FRICKEN. TIME!!! - individually pouring each little sweetner on my last nerve!! But before he opened each packet, he made sure to carefully shake them three times. *shake, shake, shake*, *tear*, *pour* and repeat. The very sound of this was enough to make me lose my shit. And it's not like he moved aside to allow me to do my thing. Nope! Didn't he know I was in a hurry??!! Well, he should have. Damn it.
Coffee in and digested. I'm all better now.
Like most people, I have my irritants and annoyances. I also have a lot of pet peeves. For example, I strongly dislike it when a sponge is left INSIDE the sink. It grosses me out to have to fish for that thing through piles of slimy and sticky dishes. Also, it drives me crazy when our couch cushions wind up on the floor. Might sound silly, but I hate having to remove a whole dog's worth of hair from a single cushion because it fell on the rug where a bunch of Candy and Tinsel's hair lies dormant. Doesn't seem to matter how much we vaccuum. If there's any fur left on the carpet, the cushions will find it! Another thing that urks me is when the kids don't hang up their wet towels after their showers. They just drop them in sopping heaps on their bedroom floor and hope that I don't notice.
Mothers always notice.
Oh, and don't get me going on cereal bags that get left open!
But my biggest pet peeve is people who are slower than death when I'm trying to get something done quickly. Today's near-victim of my wrath? A man at the convenience store. All I wanted was that 16 oz. coffee to get me through the rest of the day. He stood at the coffee counter with two coffee cups, preparing them at the speed of zero. I counted him opening twenty sugar packets. Twenty!! ONE. AT. A. FRICKEN. TIME!!! - individually pouring each little sweetner on my last nerve!! But before he opened each packet, he made sure to carefully shake them three times. *shake, shake, shake*, *tear*, *pour* and repeat. The very sound of this was enough to make me lose my shit. And it's not like he moved aside to allow me to do my thing. Nope! Didn't he know I was in a hurry??!! Well, he should have. Damn it.
Coffee in and digested. I'm all better now.
Monday, April 2, 2012
My Stuffed Animals Told Me To
Happy Monday Readers,
That was completely sarcastic.
So yesterday went off without a hitch. No April Fools jokes were played on me by my husband. Guess he values his life a little more than I thought he did. Kind of sad, really. I anticipated something all day long. If you men are going to talk so much game, you should sort of try to back it up. Otherwise, it's just that; talk. ;)
Amaya got on the subject yesterday again about boobs. I thought we had gone over this. While I was finishing up getting ready for the lunch we were about to attend she said, "Mom, I accidentally talked about boobs the other day at school."
I spun around, slightly annoyed, and asked, "How do you accidentally do that, Amaya? You know you're not suppose to be talking about that stuff, especially at school. Not a kiddie-convo topic!"
"Well," she hesitated, "It wasn't just me. It was me and a bunch of my friends. We were talking about our mom's boobs."
"And exactly what were you saying?"
"We were talking about how big our moms' boobs were. I told my friends yours were BIG!" she followed this with a gesture with her hands indicating size.
"Amaya," I started, but she cut me off.
"DAD taught me that! I heard him say that! Maybe you should talk to him!"
UGH.
Amaya is our very vocal and very imaginitive child. If you know her, you know exactly what I mean. This morning, in fact, she showed her bright colors in a light that's a little bit scary to see sometimes.
As usual, the girls have their morning routine. They get up, they have breakfast, they get dressed, they comb their hair, they brush their teeth, and they gather their things for school.
This morning, like many other mornings, the girls bickered while they got ready. Linnea is super sensitive and she was reduced to tears by Amaya's tauntings. Amaya said she wished Linnea wasn't her sister. Spencer scolded Amaya but the bickering continued. As Spencer was walking by Amaya's bedroom, she was crying. When he asked what the problem was, she said her stuffed animals told her to call Linnea names. She didn't want to, but they made her do it.
Hmmmmmmmm.
Normally, one might consider this type of accusation to be age-related, and we're hoping that's the case. This isn't the first time she's stated that another voice told her to do it. Guess we'll be watching this one closely over the next few years.
On that note, my break is over, and my coffee is telling me to drink it.
That was completely sarcastic.
So yesterday went off without a hitch. No April Fools jokes were played on me by my husband. Guess he values his life a little more than I thought he did. Kind of sad, really. I anticipated something all day long. If you men are going to talk so much game, you should sort of try to back it up. Otherwise, it's just that; talk. ;)
Amaya got on the subject yesterday again about boobs. I thought we had gone over this. While I was finishing up getting ready for the lunch we were about to attend she said, "Mom, I accidentally talked about boobs the other day at school."
I spun around, slightly annoyed, and asked, "How do you accidentally do that, Amaya? You know you're not suppose to be talking about that stuff, especially at school. Not a kiddie-convo topic!"
"Well," she hesitated, "It wasn't just me. It was me and a bunch of my friends. We were talking about our mom's boobs."
"And exactly what were you saying?"
"We were talking about how big our moms' boobs were. I told my friends yours were BIG!" she followed this with a gesture with her hands indicating size.
"Amaya," I started, but she cut me off.
"DAD taught me that! I heard him say that! Maybe you should talk to him!"
UGH.
Amaya is our very vocal and very imaginitive child. If you know her, you know exactly what I mean. This morning, in fact, she showed her bright colors in a light that's a little bit scary to see sometimes.
As usual, the girls have their morning routine. They get up, they have breakfast, they get dressed, they comb their hair, they brush their teeth, and they gather their things for school.
This morning, like many other mornings, the girls bickered while they got ready. Linnea is super sensitive and she was reduced to tears by Amaya's tauntings. Amaya said she wished Linnea wasn't her sister. Spencer scolded Amaya but the bickering continued. As Spencer was walking by Amaya's bedroom, she was crying. When he asked what the problem was, she said her stuffed animals told her to call Linnea names. She didn't want to, but they made her do it.
Hmmmmmmmm.
Normally, one might consider this type of accusation to be age-related, and we're hoping that's the case. This isn't the first time she's stated that another voice told her to do it. Guess we'll be watching this one closely over the next few years.
On that note, my break is over, and my coffee is telling me to drink it.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Naked Sundays
Good Morning, Readers!
There's nothing I love more than having a Sunday with absolutely NOTHING to do. But that doesn't happen frequently in the Cooper residence. Sundays are usually filled with last-minute errands, visits with friends and/or family, household chores / maintenance, homework and other 'busy nonsense'. I would like to think that there will come a day in time when I don't even have to bother getting dressed at all.
(Enter the simplistic yet absolutely fantastic idea of Naked Sundays)
Now, of course, Naked Sundays are really difficult to manage with kids around. And even if the kids weren't home, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be able to make it down the hallway without getting fondled - (love you, honey) - that's a tricky task in itself being completely clothed. And wouldn't it just be the case that someone would show up unannounced if I decided to spend the day in the buff? Of course it would. We could move to a nudist colony, but I reckon there are people I would NEVER want to see naked living there, so out goes that idea.
Oh Eve, why did you have to eat that apple?
Guess it's time to go get dressed. *SIGH*
There's nothing I love more than having a Sunday with absolutely NOTHING to do. But that doesn't happen frequently in the Cooper residence. Sundays are usually filled with last-minute errands, visits with friends and/or family, household chores / maintenance, homework and other 'busy nonsense'. I would like to think that there will come a day in time when I don't even have to bother getting dressed at all.
(Enter the simplistic yet absolutely fantastic idea of Naked Sundays)
Now, of course, Naked Sundays are really difficult to manage with kids around. And even if the kids weren't home, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be able to make it down the hallway without getting fondled - (love you, honey) - that's a tricky task in itself being completely clothed. And wouldn't it just be the case that someone would show up unannounced if I decided to spend the day in the buff? Of course it would. We could move to a nudist colony, but I reckon there are people I would NEVER want to see naked living there, so out goes that idea.
Oh Eve, why did you have to eat that apple?
Guess it's time to go get dressed. *SIGH*
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