Under Construction

Reorganization of blog in process. 

Yay, sigh, etc. 

Oooh Crappy Day! (Um, Literally)

Perhaps it's because my little boy is losing all his "baby fat" and barely even qualifies as a toddler anymore - he certainly doesn't get in anywhere for free anymore - or perhaps it's because I spent a lot of time working at an OB/GYN office... or because one of my closest friends just had a gorgeous baby girl. Whatever the reason, I've found myself coming down with symptoms of baby fever. As in I'm ready for baby #2. As in the prospect of cuddling a tiny little human with my DNA is starting to outweigh the memories of sleepless nights, smelling like spit up, and days of inconsolable crying (whether I'm referring to the infant's tears or my own tears is not important...).

So of course, The Great Cosmos thought it would be wise - and hilarious - to test me, to be certain I was ready for round two.

Cue to a beautiful sunshiny day. Baby Daddy and I are back in Georgia helping the besties get loaded up for their move to Tennessee. While BD is doing the manly stuff like putting furniture into the giant truck and Best Friend is busy directing the dudes as to where to put stuff, etc. I made myself useful by keeping the little ones busy in the backyard.

So, I've got three-year-old Gavin and almost-two-year-old Landon soaked down with the water hose, which is a lot of fun, mind you. But after a little while we're all just too hot. It's almost lunchtime anyway, so I come up with the brilliant idea to take the boys to Chick Fil A. That way they can eat, be in an air-conditioned building, still play and still be out of the way of the moving chaos.

I've got the food ordered and spread out on the table when I realize it's steaming and definitely too hot for the little guys to eat. No worries. The table I landed is right beside the indoor playground so I take off their shoes and tell them to go have fun while the food cools.

(This might be a good time to interject that I've already gotten a few looks from people in the restaurant. You see, despite the fact that I'm twenty-six, even with makeup on I can usually pass for a teenager - and that day was hot so I wasn't wearing much makeup. Or any jewelry, such as a wedding band. Gavin and Landon both just so happen to have blonde hair and blue eyes like me. The town I was in just so happens to be full of rather judgmental people. Do you see where I'm going with this?)

Okay, so the little dudes have been on the playground all of thirty seconds when I notice a suspicious expression on Gavin's face. I ask him what's wrong and he says something about poop. I sigh and assume Landon must have filled up his diaper, and that sucks because I really don't feel like packing up our food and stuff and dragging two little boys to the restroom.

But Landon's diaper is clean. That's when the smell hits me. That's when I notice that my own son - who has been perfectly potty-trained for months now - has not moved from his spot on the giant plastic steps that lead to the slide. That's when I realize that GAVIN is the one who has pooped. Not in his diaper, because Gavin doesn't use diapers anymore. Also, not in his underwear because... well, because after Mommy soaked him with the water hose earlier, she left his undies out to dry on the back porch and thought he'd be just fine in only a fresh pair of shorts for the next hour or so.

Do you have the image in your mind yet? Let me make it a little more vivid. Think brownish yellow and liquidy and sliding out of a pair of cotton shorts down a fuzzy little leg. I panic for about two seconds before I've got Landon on my hip and I'm dragging Gavin ACROSS THE ENTIRE BUILDING to the restroom (Note to Chick Fil A : Really, your business is already exceptional in comparison to other fast food joints, and I have a particular fondness for your good customer service and the mouthwash dispenser in the restroom. Having said that, perhaps it would make more sense for the restroom to be located closer to the playground. Since, you know, sometimes children have accidents.)

Nobody wants to be of assistance... Because it's gross. Also because an unwed teenager who's been knocked up twice deserves this and needs to learns to figure it all out all by herself since she got herself into this predicament all by herself.

The boys are still barefoot, which makes the image that much more entertaining. In my hurry, I also left the food and drinks, plus my cell phone, keys, and wallet at the table. Thankfully, the other customers may have been judgmental but none of them were thieves.

I felt immediately better once I was behind the closed stall door in the restroom. That was before I realized that the only thing I had to clean up the mess with was cheap toilet paper, and that I was going to have to put those nasty shorts back on Gavin unless I wanted to parade him naked through the building to the car. You see, since Gavin is no longer in diapers, I no longer carry a diaper bag with me. Having diapers and wipes and clean shorts would have been just too damn convenient at this point.

Also, in case you are not aware of this, most little kids don't like the sound of loud toilets flushing. Gavin and Landon are two such kids. Which is why they were both crying the entire time... Gavin wailed as he was bent over in a very awkward position while I desperately dipped large wads of toilet paper into the toilet water and wiped him with it. I couldn't do this too quickly because I was having to repeatedly stop and chase down Landon because he was trying to crawl under the stall door. Can you blame the little guy? The playground was much more pleasant than this obnoxious place I was forcing him to hang out in. (Special thanks to the lady in the stall next door who not only contributed to the delightful smell of the place but also repeated flushed.)

I managed to clean Gavin up decent enough to get out of there, and I paused at the sink just long enough to scrub my hands with scalding hot water. Then I drowned all three of us from elbows down with hand sanitizer. With lightening speed, I rushed back to the table and gathered our things. Not an easy feat - Gavin was so traumatized that he simply couldn't carry even something as small as a juice box. (Actually, he tried but ended up squeezing half of the contents onto my shirt and the rest onto the floor.) All Landon wanted to do, as he demonstrated by pointing and squealing, was get back to the playground.

I did make it to the car in one trip. (Thank god - because I KNOW that had I put the boys into the car and then ran back inside to get our things, somebody would have called Child Protective Services on me.)

Take a deep breath; it's almost over. Of course, by the time I had Landon buckled in and Gavin changed into new clothes (I don't carry a diaper bag, but I do always keep a change of clothes in the car!) and had the food divided up (they're both crying about being hungry at this point) I can't find my keys. Frantically I look across the parking lot, hoping I didn't drop them along the way - or worse, leave them inside.

I go to Landon's side of the backseat and search. Nothing. Driver's seat - nothing. I open the trunk and nope, not there. I've just gotten back to Gavin's side to look when I hear honking. That's right, honking. HONKING.

Despite the fact that there are at least five other parking spots available, some old lady simply must have the parking spot next to mine and ohmygoodness, but my car's side door is open and blocking her! Oh no! What an awful day she must be having. And, even better, there's more honking. Because Old Bat is holding up three other cars who are trying to get to the drive-thru line.

So, I did the only polite thing. I walked - quite slowly - to the other side of the car and did exactly what she wanted. I shut the door. Well, I slammed it. Rather dramatically, I'll admit. Then, with a big smile on my face I used both arms to guide her into the parking spot - you know, like all those silent models do when they're showcasing some product on a game show.

And, in case you're wondering, no, I didn't fling Gavin's dirty shorts onto her windshield. I really wanted to, but I'd already bagged them up and tossed them into the trunk, and I didn't have the energy to get them out again.

Well, Universe won. I don't think I'm ready to be taking care of two kids at once. Unless, of course, we adopt... a four-year-old girl who has been potty-trained without incident for two years and who insists on wearing undies no matter what and who would simply be too grossed out to ever allow her body to get diarrhea.

Gavin, You Save Me

Siiiiigh, my baby boy turns three-years-old today. Which, of course, means he's not actually my "baby" boy anymore. He can feed himself, walk and run and play, and entertain himself (and whoever else is nearby), use the potty (thank heavens for that one!) and speak very fluently (no, seriously, VERY fluently). It's been amazing to watch each development, but if I'm honest there's one thing he's done from the very beginning:

He's rescued me. And from what danger, you might ask? Well, without him, I'd have been confined to a life without experiencing the purest kind of love in existence. (And this is where I send out a little shout-out to his daddy for giving me the best gift ever!! xoxo).

So, Gavin darling, I'm borrowing some of Kenny's lyrics and dedicating them to you:

Every now and then I get a little lost
The strings all get tangled
The wires all get crossed
Every now and then I’m right upon the edge
Danglin’ my toes out over the ledge


I just thank God you’re here

When I’m a bullet shot out of a gun
When I’m a firecracker comin’ undone
When I’m a fugitive ready to run
All wild-eyed and crazy
No matter where my reckless soul takes me
Gavin, you save me

I don’t know how you do it
I’m not sure how you know
The perfect thing to say
To save me from myself
You’re the angel that believes in me
Like nobody else


And I thank God you do

When I’m a ship tossed around on the waves
Up on a high wire that’s ready to break
When I’ve had just about all I can take


Gavin, you...

Baby, you save me

Happy birthday! Mommy loves you ~ you're her hero :)

Be-YOU-full

A few months ago I read an article that still haunts me. I don’t remember all of the specifics, but the part that hovers in my mind is this: In a survey,  4% of the women asked said they thought they were beautiful.

FOUR PERCENT??!

Only four percent. It literally sickens me.

It’s not like I’m going to sit here and lie by saying that I believe every woman I’ve ever come across fits personal idea of beauty. But I can quite confidently say that a MUCH larger percentage of the women I encounter are beautiful.

In general, I think the problem is that too many people are making the terrible mistake of believing beauty is some kind of competition. Well, damn, of course they do.  Just think about an actual beauty pageant. EVERY contestant in the pageant is attractive (or else, duh, they wouldn’t have qualified to compete), yet all the focus is on narrowing it down to who is the MOST attractive. Don’t miss the point – I don’t have a position, good or bad, when it comes to the things. I’m just saying that life is not a beauty pageant. Your own beauty is not determined by a comparison to someone else.

Go read that last line one more time.

I looked up the definition of beautiful and it gave me pleasant chills:

Having qualities that give great pleasure or satisfaction to see, hear, think about, etc; 

delighting the senses or mind

See, I understand the sentiment behind the cliché, but beauty is in fact, more than skin-deep. Allow the most genuine version of yourself to radiate from within, and you’ll notice a beauty on the outside that is breathtaking.

Surely you’ve experienced this with others? You think someone is “cute” but then, the more you are around that person and the negative attributes that dominate their behavior, you start to question how you ever thought that person attractive in the first place. And the reverse is true – you think someone is “average at best” but before you know it, you’re overwhelmed with that person’s essence.

I encourage you to take care of your physical appearance – brush your teeth and wash your hair and dress in clothes that fit properly and exercise, etc.  But understand this: If you want to see yourself as beautiful, you have to see yourself.

This may make you laugh, but hopefully that’ll help you remember it. In order to be beautiful, you have to  be-YOU-ful. (Not necessarily arrogant or selfish, but you – and not someone else’s interpretation of you, or what you think will make somebody like you more.)

In hopes of raising that pathetic percentage I mentioned earlier, I’m offering these two basic suggestions to sum it all up:

 Don’t wait for someone else to tell you you’re beautiful before you believe it.

BUT having said that,

Take the advice once given to me, “Don’t question the beauty someone sees in you.”

If Ignorance Is Bliss, Am I Too Smart to Be Happy?

I hesitated to write this post because I know how cocky it may make me seem. (Of course, if you know me, you probably already use that word to describe me. Ha.) Plus, it practically begs others to catch me in the middle of some stupid mistake. 


But, I happened to be on www.dictionary.com and wouldn't you know it? This is the word of the day:

 OBSCURANTISM      opposition to the increase and spread of knowledge

So, now I figure it's some grand sign from the universe or something. <smirk>


Let me make this much clear from the beginning: my frustrations do not stem from the idea that I'm just so much smarter than the general population that I can hardly tolerate others. Rather, I'm well aware that, while I am indeed intelligent, I'm certainly not the smartest person in existence. There are soooo many people who are brilliant compared to me. 


This is the very reason that I'm baffled about how things that seem so obvious to me (a barely above-average person) are apparently difficult for others to grasp. 


I recently came to this realization: Ignorance is not the same thing as stupidity. Ignorance is a lack of knowledge whereas stupidity is the inability to learn. (Or, at least, the inability to learn easily.)


So now I think my irritation does not come from believing there are too many stupid people in the world. Instead, I think there are too many lazy people. That's right, too many people who are too apathetic to educate themselves.


Apparently it's just convenient to not be knowledgeable (thus the bliss - without working towards something, you're basically on a perpetual vacation from reality). There seems to be this common belief that being uninformed somehow absolves one of personal responsibility. 


Um, that's not how it works. You can throw all of your bills into the trash without opening them, but that doesn't change the debt you owe. 


(And, ahem, if you're alive then you owe something good to the world. We all should be contributing.)


Perhaps, it's because I've spent the last year working in a customer-service-type position that my frustrations have escalated. While I have the pleasure of interacting with many pleasant people, I'm also exposed to a vast number of less-than-charming and idiotic people. 


Some particularly annoying things happen a little too frequently. For example, there is a form patients fill out that asks this optional question: What is your religion? 


The list includes Catholic and Protestant. Too often, the patient looks at me and says, "Uh, I'm a Christian. Why isn't that on here?" And then eventually I hear this statement, "But I'm Baptist (or Methodist, Pentecostal, etc) not Protestant."


Now, do I expect everybody to know that Baptist is a denomination under the Protestant religion? Nope. But if you're going to consider yourself a die-hard Christian, dedicated to a certain belief system associated with the title Baptist/Methodist/Pentecostal/whatever, and especially if you're going to go around touting that you have Jesus, so you have all the answers... then YES, I expect you to know what the fuck you're talking about. And that most certainly includes knowing the very basics of your religion of choice.


This is a minor thing. My real grievance is with the world at large. Because the world is an illogical place - and I plead with someone to prove me wrong.


Why are there so many kind and wholesome women who struggle to get pregnant only to then miscarry four times when there are other women who have four abortions in a matter of three years because they're too lazy to use actual birth control?


Why is it illegal in this country to drive, smoke, drink or join the military before a certain age, but the government will pay for a teenage girl to give birth to a child she will neither love nor take proper care of? 


Why do people seem to think it's okay for a wealthy celebrity to pay over ten million dollars for a wedding (and then get divorced two months later!) when there is so much hunger and disease in the world? I believe in enjoying life, but I'm not okay with blatant disregard to the current human existence. I do no care how much of your wealth you already donate to charity - it is not acceptable to spend that disgusting amount of money on a single luxurious event when there is still so much suffering in the world.


I know this post is... depressing. But sometimes the frustration in my mind and the heavy feeling in my chest is too much to keep inside. These are the things that keep me up at night - and understandably so. When your eyes are wide-open, how can you sleep?


Writing (and, yes, sarcasm) is my weapon of defense.

*As you can see, I've always had this little smirk*

If Ignorance Is Bliss, Am I Too Smart to Be Happy?

I hesitated to write this post because I know how cocky it may make me seem. (Of course, if you know me, you probably already use that word to describe me. Ha.) Plus, it practically begs others to catch me in the middle of some stupid mistake. 


But, I happened to be on www.dictionary.com and wouldn't you know it? This is the word of the day:

 OBSCURANTISM      opposition to the increase and spread of knowledge

So, now I figure it's some grand sign from the universe or something. <smirk>


Let me make this much clear from the beginning: my frustrations do not stem from the idea that I'm just so much smarter than the general population that I can hardly tolerate others. Rather, I'm well aware that, while I am indeed intelligent, I'm certainly not the smartest person in existence. There are soooo many people who are brilliant compared to me. 


This is the very reason that I'm baffled about how things that seem so obvious to me (a barely above-average person) are apparently difficult for others to grasp. 


I recently came to this realization: Ignorance is not the same thing as stupidity. Ignorance is a lack of knowledge whereas stupidity is the inability to learn. (Or, at least, the inability to learn easily.)


So now I think my irritation does not come from believing there are too many stupid people in the world. Instead, I think there are too many lazy people. That's right, too many people who are too apathetic to educate themselves.


Apparently it's just convenient to not be knowledgeable (thus the bliss - without working towards something, you're basically on a perpetual vacation from reality). There seems to be this common belief that being uninformed somehow absolves one of personal responsibility. 


Um, that's not how it works. You can throw all of your bills into the trash without opening them, but that doesn't change the debt you owe. 


(And, ahem, if you're alive then you owe something good to the world. We all should be contributing.)


Perhaps, it's because I've spent the last year working in a customer-service-type position that my frustrations have escalated. While I have the pleasure of interacting with many pleasant people, I'm also exposed to a vast number of less-than-charming and idiotic people. 


Some particularly annoying things happen a little too frequently. For example, there is a form patients fill out that asks this optional question: What is your religion? 


The list includes Catholic and Protestant. Too often, the patient looks at me and says, "Uh, I'm a Christian. Why isn't that on here?" And then eventually I hear this statement, "But I'm Baptist (or Methodist, Pentecostal, etc) not Protestant."


Now, do I expect everybody to know that Baptist is a denomination under the Protestant religion? Nope. But if you're going to consider yourself a die-hard Christian, dedicated to a certain belief system associated with the title Baptist/Methodist/Pentecostal/whatever, and especially if you're going to go around touting that you have Jesus, so you have all the answers... then YES, I expect you to know what the fuck you're talking about. And that most certainly includes knowing the very basics of your religion of choice.


This is a minor thing. My real grievance is with the world at large. Because the world is an illogical place - and I plead with someone to prove me wrong.


Why are there so many kind and wholesome women who struggle to get pregnant only to then miscarry four times when there are other women who have four abortions in a matter of three years because they're too lazy to use actual birth control?


Why is it illegal in this country to drive, smoke, drink or join the military before a certain age, but the government will pay for a teenage girl to give birth to a child she will neither love nor take proper care of? 


Why do people seem to think it's okay for a wealthy celebrity to pay over ten million dollars for a wedding (and then get divorced two months later!) when there is so much hunger and disease in the world? I believe in enjoying life, but I'm not okay with blatant disregard to the current human existence. I do no care how much of your wealth you already donate to charity - it is not acceptable to spend that disgusting amount of money on a single luxurious event when there is still so much suffering in the world.


I know this post is... depressing. But sometimes the frustration in my mind and the heavy feeling in my chest is too much to keep inside. These are the things that keep me up at night - and understandably so. When your eyes are wide-open, how can you sleep?


Writing (and, yes, sarcasm) is my weapon of defense.

*As you can see, I've always had this little smirk*

The Truth's Quirks

The truth hurts.

So... either I have an unusually high level of pain tolerance or I get some kind of minute amount of pleasure from pain - because I have an obsession with the truth.

See, I'm that chick who could handle being cheated on or stolen from without flinching but can't stand being lied to about it. It's not those actions that would get to me as much as the deception. I guess it's because it insults my intelligence, and that annoys me more than most things.

I also have pretty decent intuition. So what happens is if I suspect you aren't being completely forthright about how you feel/why you feel/what you've done/why you've done it and so, I'll push and push until I hear you say it.

And let me just tell ya, it's exhausting. Most people are lying to themselves so it's extremely difficult to be honest with someone else.

Now, am I suggesting that my love for the truth means I never lie? Yup.
(Ahem, that was a lie.)

However, I am indeed quite truthful and this has gotten me in trouble on numerous occasions. The thing is, I feel like if I can admit to being clumsy and sometimes abrasively direct and sarcastic and dramatic at times, I think it gives me permission to point out when you're being a control freak or overly sensitive or if the pants you're wearing are completely unflattering. (Let me clarify, though, this isn't information that I'll necessarily volunteer; I'll just be honest if you ask - or if you provoke me.)

Shockingly, this doesn't always go over well.

(And let me also add that my truthfulness does not just include negative things. I don't mind telling you when your girlfriend looks hot in that dress or if the job you just landed suits your talents.)

Where am I going with all of this? Well, lately I've discovered something that has been... well, a hard truth. It turns out that sometimes the truth is just as much emotional as it is factual. And that makes it complicated. That means the truth isn't flawless and that, to be blunt, it's quirky.

I'll use the *awesome* show True Blood as an example. (Not just because the title of the show itself is perfect for this post, heehee.) I love and adore Bill - and I was well aware that things were never really "over" between him and our darling heroin -- but, damn, was I thrilled when Sookie finally hooked up with Eric (and admitted the attraction that was there all along).
*I'm not even going to bring Alcide into the picture at this point. Whew.

Yeah, it's TV but life it full of situations like that (minus the biting and crazy-powerful blood, but you know what I mean). That's why "love triangle" is such a common term and theme. Yes, you can truly have feelings for more than one person just like you can truly have a friend that you simultaneously love and hate. You can have more than one motivation for your actions - I'd venture to say that's the case most of the time, actually.

I'm writing this mostly to myself, as a reminder to go easier on people when it comes to my investigation of the extreme truth. Why? Because most people can't handle the truth.

It's too much work. I've got to breathe a little easier and channel my energy into the situations that really matter.

And I've come to this conclusion: The truth is not black and white or even shades of grey. It is simply a piercing white (hear me out; I'm not being racist) that is in actuality made up of a spectrum of colors. For some people, it is easier to focus on a single hue. Lucky for me, I can handle - and prefer - looking into the intensity of that bright light that encompasses the full rainbow.