Meet Ralph

 I felt a little reminiscent this morning as I mindlessly transported myself to work and through my vents came the smell of exhaust. Not normal exhaust but the smell of being eight years old, with Dad, Mom, Brother in OUR Family Truckster (a Chevette), sitting in gridlock inching our way in to the big city of Chicago. It seemed so big to me then. Strange people, strange place. Now, I know people who reside there and have frequented the area due to our Regional Office location there. It took me back to being small, naive....fragile. I thought of my children. I pondered the math in my head and figured my parents to be about my age at that time. Holy shit. In my mind they were so mature.....old even. They knew all the answers. Is that what my kids think of me? I certainly do not know all the answers and am sickened at the notion that I am old! I dug out my CD book out of the center console, in an effort to recapture some of my youth. As I did this, I found Ralph. 

Ladies and Gentlemen, Ralph. Ralph, Ladies and Gentlemen. 

Ralph has been in my life since 1996. I bought him the week of my 16th Birthday on my first drive to the mall in my Birthday present a sporty, maroon Chevy Beretta. To take you back some....this is when Walgreen's was in the mall. Feel ancient yet? Anyhow....Ralph and I have spent many fun-filled days together. He has been in my life since before Hubs and the kids....wow....did I even have a life then? Yes. Yes I did, I recall. Bass a thumpin, stogies a burnin,  smiles a dozen, laughing....carefree. He was my first child of sorts. Thank goodness I have become a better parent. Note the cigarette burns on his cheeks. Poor Ralphie. I don't take him out often. He currently resides in the deep center console of the Family Truckster.


I smiled thinking of the immature version of myself. Was that really ME all those years ago? What happens to us over the years? Life, I suppose. Hurt, betrayal, lies, tears..... We start out wide eyed and so trusting of the world then reach an age where we forget who we were. All the things our kids do to drive us nuts, were things that we did. Why do we get so angry? Well as these thoughts danced in my head the eight year old me got really pissed off at the thirty-something me. So I decided to act as young and carefree as my thirty something body would let me on my journey to work. I cued up an old mix CD, cranked up the volume and felt Mariah Carey enter my veins.

Mariah Carey....We Belong Together

It wasn't my usual crooning, staring straight ahead while concerned about my surroundings. Not today. I had my left hand on the wheel and my right hand was going all Mariah up in there! I glanced at cars that passed and if they made eye contact with me I simply serenaded them with a longing gaze. IT WAS FUN! I felt 16 again! For the first time in a long time, I let go. You know what? It was awesome. So today, channel your inner 16 year old.....or whatever age you want to commemorate......and just be carefree. Life is too short! Take the stick up out of your ass! Figuratively, of course. If you literally have a stick up your ass, go to the hospital friend!

Great Expectations

I’m not quite sure what I expected this morning while getting dressed. I suppose I expected to have lost that pesky 15 pounds miraculously overnight, after a day of eating better. Alas, I was the same poundage (and roundness) I was the night before. This shit is hard. I mean, what is a girl to do? I have given up all my vices.

Smoking. I am a former smoker from the age of 13 until I became pregnant with my daughter. Quit my entire pregnancy only to return to the tempting cancer sticks when she was 6 weeks old. I quit again when I became pregnant with our Angel Baby in 2005. After a miscarriage at 10 weeks, you guessed it…..I went back. Then there was the pregnancy of Boy 1. It was the hardest quit ever. I felt like I was detoxing off of heroin…although to be fair I have never done heroin so I am merely being dramatic to make a point. Shit was hard. I vowed never to go back again. So here I am, six months away from my 6 year smoke-iversary. I still crave a cig every now and then but never indulge.

Drinking. I am not by any means a recovering alcoholic. I did enjoy drinking, though. The weekends we did not have my daughter, we went to the local pub and had a blast. Laughing, carefree, dancing…..it was a blast. Now? If we decide to have one drink it really isn’t even worth it because one doesn’t do much of anything. It doesn’t unwind me it just makes me go pee and my face looks bloated the next day. If I was to drink any more, the limited amount of fun that would come from a drunken bender would pale in comparison to the multi-day hangover that would plague my entire body, coupled with the kids yelling….screaming….fighting…whining…..yeah you get the picture. Not worth it.

Goodwill. I am a former GW whore. I used to hit every Goodwill or Salvation Army locally weekly. When I was a stay at home I went almost every day. When I had only my daughter, I would go on the weekends or at night. There was always that warmth of excitement that flowed through my veins as the automatic door swooshed open….What will I discover today?! What deal will I uncover!?  Will it be a book, a new shirt, a toy for the kids!? I’m getting excited writing this!! Gahh! Unfortunately, errands need to be completed on my lunch break. Weekends chock-full of laundry, housework and playing with the kiddos. Nights occupied with dinner prep, dinner clean up, MORE LAUNDRY, kids homework, getting bits and pieces together for the next morning. Another vice I have given up.

So all that is left is food. Now I have to quit her. If I just wouldn’t have indulged in Februany at Subway last year when I was pregnant or if I wouldn’t have seen being pregnant as a free pass to eat…..maybe I would have only gained the recommended 25 pounds, instead of the 35 I gained. I can sit here and kick myself in the ass for only so long before I have to saddle up and do what I know I need to do. No more mouths full of Cool Ranch Doritos. No more handfuls of cheese sampling while cooking dinner. And most certainly no more trips to Walgreens after lunch to purchase chocolate. At least not for now. I am going to try and be good. I am going to try very, very hard. Let’s see how it goes. For now I am off to enjoy a low calorie, lime margarita at my desk. *CHEERS*

F is for Friday....or Failure.....

Men are not programmed to be Mommies. Let me rephrase that. My husband is not programmed to be a Mommy. He is on Day Two of Baby Boy has an ear infection and won’t hold the medicine down so the house smells like baby vomit duty. I wish I was there. I am internally sobbing.

I wish I wasn’t stuck at work for another hour and a half finding mindless things to do with a paid smile on my face. In my mind, I could make everything better. I could silence his cries better, I could get him to eat better, I would have started his new medicine. Alas, this is all in my mind. I sit here with sore, tense shoulders worrying about what tonight will bring. Will he keep the meds down? Will he cry all night in pain? Will we have to take him to the hospital if he does not hold the meds down and beg for antibiotics via injection? I know one thing. I am freaking tired. Nah…forget that….I’m fucking tired. I feel totally and completely responsible for the health of this eight month old and I am totally sucking at it. It’s my fault. If he wasn’t in daycare he wouldn’t have gotten this cold. He would not have gotten an ear infection. I failed. I can’t find a way to make staying at home pay. I can’t find a way to provide medical insurance being an at home Mom. I can’t help that most days I actually enjoy the eight hours of away from the family time. I just feel all around like a failure. Between financial stresses, marital strain and…well, children…..I am at my breaking point.