In which I dis everyone’s favorite place

con·trar·y

–adjective

1. opposite in nature or character; diametrically or mutually opposed: contrary to fact; contrary propositions.

2. opposite in direction or position: departures in contrary directions.

3. being the opposite one of two: I will make the contrary choice.

4. unfavorable or adverse.

5. perverse; stubbornly opposed or willful.

I freely acknowledge that I’m a bit contrary.

It’s not that I want to be difficult.  I don’t mean to cause a problem.  And I’m a displaced Yankee Southern lady, so I certainly wouldn’t want to be any bother. 

I’m just…different.

If everyone is doing it, I’m probably not.

If everyone likes it, I probably don’t.

It’s just the way I roll.

I’ve been like this forever.  When Commodore 64 was all the rage, I was lovin’ my Texas Instruments.  When NKOTB had all the girls squealing, I was discovering Leonard Cohen.  While my friends left high school for college, I took a year off and weighed my options.

Contrary.

I never liked the popular guys in high school, never swoon over dreamy movie stars.  I’ll take me the offbeat brainiac in the corner anyday.

 Now let me warn you, several of you are going to be upset with what I’m about to say.  I know for a fact that a couple of you might even feel physical pain at what I’m about to tell you.  Allow me to apologize in advance.  I don’t mean to upset you.  And I’m not insulting you personally.  This is a macro situation.

As an adult, perhaps the biggest evidence of my contrariness (is that a word?) comes in the form of my shopping habits.  The great divide between myself and my friends is Target.  You know, the ‘discount’ store that you all love.

Guess who doesn’t?

Tar-jay.  Gag me with a spoon, people.  Target is the store that sells cute stuff for twice the price you could get it elsewhere.  (Cue the parade of loyal shoppers declaring that is so not true)  Every time I hear a Target person make fun of Wal-Mart, they cement my love of Wal-Mart and disdain for Target a little bit more. 

I know your opinion of us.

But as a Wal-Mart person, I can tell you that we have opinions of you, too. 

We think you’re snobs.  We don’t like the way you make fun of Wal-Mart, and drink your ridiculously over-priced coffee while you look down your noses at us.  We think you’re not nearly as smart as you like to think you are, since we buy the same products on rollback.  AND, we think the fact that Target does not allow the Salvation on their property is really, really crappy. [Yeah, I went there.  Again.  Stop me when it fails to be true.]

But how often do you hear a Wal-Mart person saying all that?  um, never.  Wal-Mart people can’t get away with it.  Yet it’s common and apparently perfectly acceptable for Target people to belittle us.

Target people, you know how you say that Wal-Mart is dirty and people there are rude?

Wal-Mart people see your store as putting on airs and your people equally as rude, but catty about it.

I don’t know why this little piece of retail real estate has come to mean so much to me, but it has.  Don’t even start on all of the things that are wrong with Wal-Mart corporation - I know.  And I could give you a Target laundry list in return.  I’m not debating the morality of big business here, I’m talking about the day-to-day attitude of the public.

The ‘Target is where it’s at’ mentality.

Maybe that’s why I’ve declared myself firmly in the Wal-Mart camp. 

I’m contrary like that.

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Writer’s Workshop – What I hate about you

I’m going with Prompt #1.

10 Reasons why you’re better off without him….or her….or it.

1. You don’t love me the way that I love you.
2. You’re empty inside.
3. The good moments we spend together are fleeting at best.
4. You look good on the outside, but looks are deceiving.
5. You take more than you give.
6. You’re never around. You think once a year you can sweep me off my feet, but I require more than that.
7. I can’t afford you!  Good grief, you burn through my money in the blink of an eye.
8. After we’re together, I feel bad about myself.
9. You don’t care about making me feel bad, either. You just sit there and mock me, relentlessly.
10. You’re not loyal.  You cozy up with women all over the place and I’m supposed to just take it.

Wow.  I was planning on writing about someone something else entirely, but when I got going something else entirely just poured out.  I’m guessing some of you can relate.

photo credit: this is a thing

Die, Girl Scout Cookies. 

I need you dead and gone.

I literally ate 3 thin mints while on the treadmill today. 

My judgement has been compromised.

And I am ’supposedly’ training for a half-marathon and participating in not one, but two fitness challenges as well.

Not. Looking. Good.

But my frozen Samoas only come around once a year, so how can I say no to that?

Clearly, I cannot.

And this, my friends, is the tale of why I will never again wear a 2-piece bathing suit.  Because I have the willpower of a…dang.  What’s the rest of that sentence?  A person with no willpower?

I’ll have to have a cookie while I think about that for a minute.

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Please don’t hold this against us

Annie’s 1st grade class is working on a pen pal project.  In 21st century style, though, it’s not really about the pens.  This project also involves audio, video, a school tour, and a smartboard.  It’s pretty cool, and the kids have been really excited about it.  The principal thought the project was so unique that she called the local paper to do a story on it. 

This is the first time I’ll point out to you that we live in a small town. 

So one day last week, a reporter came out to the classroom to take pictures and ask questions about the project.  He asked the teachers if they had a particularly expressive child that he could interview, and wouldn’t you know, my little Annie was the one he talked to.  ‘Expressive’ is definitely a word that suits her.

I was told to look for it to run in the Sunday paper.  And as it turned out, being a small town, this story was worthy of the front page.  Pretty impressive, right? 

Well.

So I read along to find my girl, and I come across this lovely little tidbit.

Student Annie Roberts-Nault has already found out about several similarities she shares with her pen pal, Emily.

“She likes to play in PE in school … I told her PE was my favorite class, too,” Roberts-Nault said.

Dogs are a common feature in both households as well, with her pen pal having one pup while Roberts-Nault’s family has three. According to Roberts-Nault, however, more does not necessarily equal better as one of her pets, Rigley, possesses a bad habit. The canine has a tendency to poop on her family’s deck, a definite defecation no-zone.

Props to Annie for landing us on the front page of the newspaper with a story like that.

I would like to clear up a few things now.

• Wrigley is spelled wrong.  Cubs, people, it’s the Cubs.
• She is not my dog.
• She is 9 years old and this has only happened twice in her life.  It’s true that I can’t stand the dog, but even I can say that this is not her major problem.
• She is a 25 pound black lab mix, up to date on all her shots, and ready for a new home at any time.

Did I mention we’re a very small town?  A last name like ours really doesn’t blend in.  Not to mention Annie’s such an extrovert that half the county knows who she is already.  Absolutely no chance of anyone not seeing this one. 

How great for us to now be known as the family with defecation issues!

I am, of course, still proud of her.

And, of course, concerned about her inability to filter for appropriate content.

At least she didn’t tell them about the time Daddy kicked Mommy and Mommy was crying on the floor of the closet.  [Catie actually told this to her pre-school teacher.  That the kids are still in our possession at this point is remarkable.]

So it could have been better, but it definitely could have been worse, too.

The article ends by stating

Technology, it seems, no matter how advanced, is never perfect.

It seems the same could be said for my Annie.

~Read it (and laugh at us) for yourself here.

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Like Mother, Like Daughter

I did some work in the kitchen last weekend.  We had a lovely snowstorm Friday night which made for lots of Saturday morning fun, so while the girls played in the snow with their Daddy, I cleaned/purged/rearranged and organized the kitchen cabinets.  As usual, it was a lot more work than I had anticipated, and it took a lot longer than I had expected.  The end result is great though, and I’ll be bragging about it next Makeover Monday. 

I unexpectedly got another post out of the deal, though, in the form of my mother and I sharing some insanity.

We have a lot in common.  She’s pretty much my best friend.  But I never realized we shared a possible mental illness until Saturday.

It’s called a crippling inability to ever throw anything away.  Ever.

We’re not crazy hoarders, mind you.  We’re just practical.  It pains me to throw away something, even if I can’t use it, because I know someone can. 

Someone needs this junk!

Nevermind that the shirt has paint all over it, if you have no shirt at all then this is better than nothing, right?

For years I thought this was my own hangup, but Saturday I realized it’s not my fault – I inherited it.

When I moved out of my parents’ house for college mom packed up a bunch of spices for me.  Some were put into little glass jars, others she just gave me her containers.  Containers that she refilled because we cook a lot, so we buy spices in bulk.

I now do the same thing.  I buy spices at Sam’s Club and refill my small, easier-to-hold containers and continue using them.  I never gave the practice much thought, really – after all, it’s what my mom did.

My mom also used to re-use ziploc bags, which as a kid I thought was just ridiculous.  I still very clearly remember the first time I re-used a freezer bag. 

It just had bread in it!  It’s like it was never used!

It hit me right away that I was A) old and B) my mother’s daughter.

It took me longer to notice the spice containers.

It started when I saw mom’s handwriting on this bottle and thought ‘Man, I’ve had that for a long time!’ (Despite the fact that I am, of course, still 19 and just moved out of my parents’ house. Ahem.)

(Notice she’s re-labeled a bottle.  You know, since we can’t throw away a plastic bottle.  Also notice, I am mocking her here, yet still using it myself.  Because if she’s on the crazy ship, I’m going down with her.  That’s how much I love her.)

Hmmm…let’s check the date on that one.

Can you read that clearly?  Because it says 1986. 

Yes.

1986, the year of Kiss, Papa Don’t Preach, and Walk Like an Egyptian.

Yeah.

But wait!  I also have these beauties:

That’s right, baby.  1977.

AKA the year of Dancing Queen, Margaritaville, and Car Wash.

I have spice containers in my house that are 33 years old, people.

It’s not normal.  

Unless you are in my family, in which case it is actually completely normal.  My mom is probably reading this right now thinking ‘Well they’re still perfectly good! What’s the issue?’

And they really are very nice containers.  You can’t buy ones that close that nicely anymore. 

 These ones are broken in just right, and they are still perfectly good!  Why would I throw away a perfectly good container?

I wouldn’t. 

Because I am my mother’s daughter.

UPDATE:

After reading this a few minutes ago, my mom looked in her spice cabinet.  Please pardon my blurry cell phone pictures, but I couldn’t wait to share this with you. 

I am sorry to report that she, too, has spice containers from 1977.

She also has this one from 1974:

And this one, which has no date, but by picture alone I’d say could easily be our oldest container winner:

She got that one from my Grama.

And now we’d like to re-iterate that we are refilling the tins, not actually using the same spices from the 1970’s.

And we do wash them before refilling.

And we do know that we’re crazy.

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I really haven’t abandoned you.

I’m sure you think I have, since my track record is so bad.  I’ve been thinking about you all week, actually.  I’ve just been blogging elsewhere.  I’m guest blogging about organization this week over at Here Comes The Stork. 

Stop laughing.

Seriously.

I totally do know how to organize. 

Just because I haven’t answered your email from 3 weeks ago, and I haven’t finished putting away the Christmas decorations, and you can only open the kids’ kitchen cabinet at your own risk because assorted plastic cups are likely to rain down on your head if you move too quickly does not mean that I don’t know how to organize.

side note: Nella, I still have not even mailed your Christmas gift. I suck. I’d apologize, but since you’ve known me for 15+ years, realistically I’m sure you are not surprised by this information.

Ok, back to my regularly scheduled ‘I am too organized’ post.

Exhibit A – the kids’ bathroom closet:

Perfectly organized.

And when I come up with an exhibit B, you can bet I’ll be rubbing that in your face too.

So there.

Eat your laughter my friends.

And then hop over to HCTS if you’d like to read what kept me away from you this week.  Or if you’d like to learn more about selling online.  In case you didn’t know, I’m actually a moderator over at the HCTS forums for moms who sell online (eBay, Amazon, websites, through direct sales, etc) or other work at home venues, blogging, yada yada yada.  I’ve been a member there for more years than I can remember, and it’s definitely my virtual home away from home.  And the ladies there are super nice. 

They never laugh at me when I write about organization.

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To-Do, part 346

I’m guessing I’m not the only one with a mile long to-do list, right?  Mine looks a little bit like this:

Things that I have no choice about – pay bills, buy groceries, ship packages, sew

Things that I do eventually, but put off as long as possible – clean, put away laundry, bathe the dog

Things that I will do one day, when I have a free weekend – organize pictures, organize closets, organize my life…

Things that I will never have the time, money, or long enough life to do, but still want to do – go to culinary school, become a real estate agent, learn to knit, live in Greece

But recently I’ve noticed I have another category.  That’s the one I want to talk about.  It’s called ‘Things I feel I should do, for no apparent reason.‘  These are the things that everyone else seems to have seen or done, but I, inexplicably, have not. 

And just for the record, let me tell you up front that I’ve never read Harry Potter or Twilight, never seen the movies, and never, ever, EVER will.  Don’t even tell me I should.  Not a chance.

But a few of the others on my list…

-I’ve never seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show, The Wizard of Oz, This is Spinal Tap, Rosemary’s Baby, or Citizen Kane.

-I’ve never watched Lost, The Amazing Race, Family Guy, Star Trek, Heroes, Bones, Prison Break, Doctor Who, Californication, Gossip Girl, 90210 or Melrose Place (original and re-launched versions).

-In addition to the aforementioned sagas that make me cringe, I’ve never read The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, The Da Vinci Code, A Million Little Pieces, or Tropic of Cancer.

-I’ve never heard a single song by the Grateful Dead.  I’m not even sure why.  My musical taste is all over the map and my knowledge is rather extensive, but they are a big one that’s always eluded me.

-I’ve never smoked pot.  Or tried any other illegal substances, for that matter.  Now this one doesn’t exactly fit on the ‘I should try this’ list, but it does seem to be an anomaly, since the vast majority of people I know have tried marijuana at some point or another.  I guess I ‘experienced’ my youth a little less than others.  Bible college will do that to ya.

-I’ve never ridden a motorcycle.  Dirt bikes sure, but street bikes scare me – too many idiots out there.

-I’ve never gone skydiving.  I really wish I’d done this before I had kids, because now I never will.

-I’ve never finished writing my book.  Or books, as the case may be.  I have 3 that need edited, and I hate editing so much I’d rather start from scratch than make the time to revise and seek a publisher.  Talk about lazy.

-I’ve never slept in line for anything.  I’m not sure why this has appeal for me, but it does.

-I’ve never bought a lottery ticket.  I often say “If I win the lottery…” but somehow I’m thinking that isn’t likely unless I first purchase a ticket.

I’m sure I have others, but those are the highlights.

So what’s on your list?

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Putting Santa in His place

I had a Moment today.  Moment with a capital M. 

Perhaps I should be ashamed to say that I don’t have many of those.  These days I feel like I’m in survival mode rather than growing and reflecting mode.  But today we had a Moment.

The Moment came in the most unexpected of ways, as they usually do.  We were at the grocery store and Catie stopped to put some change in the Salvation Army’s bucket.  The elderly lady accepting the donations let each of the girls take a turn ringing the bell, much to their delight, and they left excitedly chattering about what would be done with the donations.  I was feeling proud of them for their generosity and their kindness, and as any mom will tell you, that’s exactly when it hits.  ‘Pride cometh before the fall’ is never more true than when you’re caught patting yourself on the back for raising awesome little people.

The exact exchange leading up to The Moment escapes me, but it was basically Catie saying something she shouldn’t and me pulling out the tired, “What would Santa think of that?” response. 

For a moment it was a parenting high.  The moments we live for, that make our hearts soar and carry us through the low moments with the memory of how our lessons do get through, at least part of the time.

Annie immediately followed up my lame question with, “More importantly, what would God think?” 

Score!

Someone listens to me!  Someone is learning an important lesson!  The important lesson.  (In spite of my shortcomings, obviously)

But the rug was pulled out from underneath my heart when Catie said, “But Santa is like God, right?”

Ouch.

Just typing it now hurts, and I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sound of those words.  I don’t want to ever forget the sound of those words.  Painful as they are, they contain a very important lesson.

A lesson that, clearly, I’m falling down on the job.

If you’ve met Annie then you have probably seen that she is a wise old soul.  Her spiritual connection is a constant source of amazement to me.  I don’t know how to describe it other than to tell you that more than once when she has spoken to me, I have felt that I am in the presence of God.  He puts words in her mouth, at the most amazing moments, and in the most amazing ways.  At not yet 7, Annie is a spiritual warrior to be reckoned with, and she inspires me.

She’s also made it too easy for me to ignore the dangers of Santa.

It’s easy for Annie to write a letter to Santa and then write him off, because she knows what Christmas is really about.  There’s never been any harm in Santa because he has been in his proper, heavily shadowed place.  But Catie – not so much.

I thought I was doing everything right.  Ok, not everything.  I’m far from perfect.  But the big things at least.

We go to church on Sundays and Wednesdays, we read the Bible and pray together every day, and we talk about God throughout our days.  The kids can all tell you the Christmas story, and if you ask them what we’re celebrating the first words out of everyone’s mouth will be ’Baby Jesus’ Birthday.’  And yet.

And yet somehow, Santa has crept in. 

It’s my fault – I’ve always been fine with the big guy.  He’s fun!  He’s harmless!  I was never traumatized by him!

Until today.  Today I was.

I’m not sure where I’m going with this, but time on my knees is definitely in order. 

This wonderful, delightful, excruciating job that I have is the one I’ve dreamed of my whole life.  When my friends picked their majors in college, they were excited about the career in front of them.  I chose English Education, because teaching is a good job for a mom (and anyone who knows me can attest to my appalling lack of mathematical ability) and I didn’t know what else to do.  Emotionally, I floundered in school because my heart wasn’t in it; all I’ve ever wanted to do was be a stay-at-home mom. 

Fast-forward a decade year or two and here I am, living the dream, doing what I know is not always my best, but I’m trying every day to do better.  While not about to win a mother of the year award, I thought I was at least moderately good at this.  But alas, it seems I am failing to impart the one single most important piece of knowledge I can ever teach my children.  I’ve fallen down on the job of spiritual enlightenment.

I’ve allowed Santa to take His place.

I’m glad this Moment happened on December 1st.  It gives me a whole month of opportunity before the big day.  25 days to set the record straight.  25 days to refocus her holiday attentions.  25 days to put Santa back where he belongs.  25 days to make a decision about Christmas Future in our home.

Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy, watch out.  Your positions might not be secure either.

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Warning: trees on our property are fingerprint-free

I know it’s not very PC, but anyone who knows me knows that I’m not a very PC gal. Never have been, never will be, never claimed to be.

What’s my non-PC confession? I’m not a tree-hugger.

I don’t mind other people going green, but as for me and my trees we will keep our distance. It’s almost inflammatory to confess, I know. But I’m not ashamed. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for doing what you can when you can. Recycling is great and we do that. We also use the greenie light bulbs and support local growers. But buying the inferior-performing, twice-as-much-costing household products? Not so much.

The garbage men who service our street definitely know that we’re not greenies. I’ve never understood how we can produce as much trash as we do in a week, but it’s really rather amazing. I’d say at least 1/4 of it is bulk mail, but what is all the rest??? I use a garbage disposal, I recycle what I can. Where does all this stuff come from? I’m trying to identify and cut down on that situation.

But. BUT.

I like my paper. The Kindle phenomenon has not piqued my interest. I can’t imagine sacrificing the feel of a magazine in my hands or the smell of a book; that comfortable old-friend feeling.

I like disposable things in general. Disposable sippy cups are a Godsend for vacations. Ditto bibs. Really, I love all disposable tableware. Paper plates are a busy mom’s friend. And don’t even get me started on diapers. Disposable diapers were invented for a reason, and that reason is that cloth diapers suck. Why get any more up close and personal with that than you have to? (I can hear you right now Mel! )

I like my minivan. I have no desire to pay the same price for a car half the size that’s a hybrid…and doesn’t get any better gas mileage.

What brought this about?  The disappointment I feel every time I buy a CD.  We bought the new Jonas Brothers cd last night (I know, I’m so behind!) and it’s so…plain.  It’s such a beautiful cover, and tearing into and finding nothing was quite the letdown.  I mean, it’s not even a nice plastic case like CD’s are supposed to have.  I like them, PC or not.  But no, no, instead you open that thin cardboard cover and find a CD – and nothing else.  I miss the removable insert with pictures and song lyrics and thank yous.  I can’t tell you how many artists I came to love or hate based on the type of thank you they wrote.  (Brad Paisley always thanks God – High Quality Person)  I know the Jo Bros are HQP too, but I still wish I had the CD foldout to pore over.  <sigh>

I actually don’t have a rampant desire to be a consumer, I promise. I do feel a certain sense of responsibility to take care of the world that God has entrusted to us. But I also feel that there is a pre-determined day and time for this world’s demise, and that no amount of reducing or reusing will alter that course.

So there, now it’s out there. When you talk about your solar power and your water mill and your cherrypal, I’m nodding along while mentally reviewing my grocery list. Try not to hold it against me, ok?

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ok, I admit it, I’m holding them back

I have a confession to make. A bad mom type of confession. But I’m putting it out there, because I’m willing to bet I’m not alone in this.

I allow my children to misspeak because I think it’s cute. And sometimes, I actually encourage the use of the baby words, because I’ll be sad when they grow out of them.

Like what? you may ask. Or don’t ask, whatever, I’m telling you anyway. These are a few words pulled straight from our family dictionary:

‘plobbler toys’ – you know, the under-3 toys in Happy Meals. ok fine, toddler toys. whatever.

‘cuddles’ – besides the obvious, these are also the small pools of water to splash in – aka puddles.

‘chrucks’ – trucks. apparently we have some annunciation issues. we’re southern.

‘bask in robin’s’ – observed just yesterday, when Annie asked what it meant to bask in something

And all of the above, sadly, are things I’ve allowed all three girls to continue. Yes, Annie just turned 6. I know.

And then there are the little baby words, that are oh-so-adorable. Lilly just turned 2, so she is bandying about gems like wadu(water), cuppa(cup), shrash(trash), ba-ye(belly), and wa-wu(love you).

I know you’re supposed to use the real words. But it’s hard sometimes. I like the baby words, and she’s the last baby here to use them. Annie’s adorable utterances like adoo(ice cream) and bodu(Cooper, our dog – how she came up with this is beyond me) are long gone. Catie had gems like guck(stuck) and balay(blanket – ok, we still call it that), but she’s evolved as well.

So yeah, I’m a bad mom. I’ll probably give my poor daughters speech impediments or developmental delays or something. But they will be so darn cute!

PS) One more sugary sweet mommy moment, and then I promise I’ll stop. When Annie was tiny, she’d come to me with her arms up and I’d swoop her up, saying ‘Mommy would be happy to hold you.’ As soon as she began talking, her outstretched arms were accompanied by her tiny little voice saying ‘happy hold you, happy hold you.’ How cute is that?

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In which I examine myself

What do you miss most about your life pre-children?

I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. And quite honestly, I have been trying to stuff the thought into a small box in the back of my mind. My life is infinitely better with these girls in it, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world. I say often that I don’t know what we did before we had them, but it surely wasn’t anything good. They make every day better, every moment brighter.

But the truth that I feel so guilty acknowledging is that I do remember what we did before. And while it certainly wasn’t better, or even nearly as good, it wasn’t bad either.

We slept late on Saturdays. We read the newspaper in bed. There was wine and late nights dancing and brunch at the Waffle House. We went out to eat a lot, and not fast food either. Real restaurants, with cloth napkins and candlelight and delicacies. We went to the movies and saw whatever we wanted. We could travel with only carry-on luggage. We took architectural tours and read books together and studied European history. I had breakables all over the place, with no regard for safety. We had friends that we went out with every weekend. We went to sporting events and enjoyed camping and conversation. Just conversation.

I wouldn’t trade my life now for anything in the world, but sometimes I miss the ‘before’ moments too. So what does that mean? I’m having a hard time getting past the ‘I must be a horrible mother to even think this’ stage, but I think maybe it means that I miss my husband. I miss me. Something is missing. And I think it’s our identities apart from this family.

Don’t get me wrong, I love being known as Annie, Catie, and Lilly’s Mother first, and Heather second. I wouldn’t have it any other way. But lately I have realized that without any life separate from this house, I’m not the wife my husband deserves. I am not bringing much to the table. This is difficult for me, as I’m an introvert and I don’t like putting myself out there. But I need to do it. I need to force myself. There are always projects at church that need volunteers, and I vow to get better about stepping up and stepping out to do it. I think it would be good for all of us.

First on the list – finding a babysitter. How does one do that?

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