Smoking for Spite and Mental Wellness

Oh I know exactly what I am... Among other things I am a filthy smoker, and not just that, I'm a bloody re-start. After 3 years of thinking about smoking every freaking day, I started again. Man, it was AWESOME. I don't really suffer any illusions that it makes me look cool, eat less, lowers my (already perfect) blood pressure- What it does for me is offer an escape from the mayhem and chaos inside my house. I can step outside for 5 minutes and not be followed. I can shut the door and light up and take deep calming breaths and flood my veins with precious nicotine and for just a minute or two, I feel free. Yes, I'm quite aware there's no freedom to be had while you're chained to a cigarette, that's not what I'm looking to escape. I spend nearly every moment of my life looking to the needs of others; my husband, my child, all the other husbands (snort) and all the other children, the housework, the phone... 3 to 5 minutes, 10 times a day- that's not even an hour of "me time", and I don't think it's so much to ask. Yet the demands are always there, just on the other side of that door. Just on the other side of that selfish, masochistic moment, there is my life.

The last time I quit, was about the same time Mr Man announced that he didn't believe I would ever quit smoking, and he supposed he would just have to get used to it. The nagging stopped, the snide remarks faded away, and finally, he stopped pestering me about it. It was bliss. And as the spotlight faded on my flaws, so did my desire to smoke. It just got more and more unpleasant and one day I stopped. Just like that. Cooooold Turkey baby.

But now... Now, it seems that every single move I make is up for discussion, every unsolicited opinion- my life is totally wide-fucking-open. That's not to say I don't care what some people think, but my core motto is in fact "you can either agree with me, or be wrong" (thanks Em :) ), and that makes some of the conversations I have, well, rather difficult. SO- I smoke because I feel like it, I smoke because I can, and I smoke because it serves to alienate me from some people, and the ones who matter, they love me anyway. Yep, if you're going to do something bad, do it for a good reason- I smoke for spite.

So long as I've got two of these....

I should say that my mother's second husband "did the best he could"... but I'm pretty sure that would be an outright lie. He was (is) a total pig. He also totally embraced this... notion of anti-feminism that saved me from quite a lot of hard physical work. This worked out fairly well for me when the lawn needed cut in the summer, or when our 8 Japanese maple trees dropped 140 bags of wet, sticky leaves in the fall... wood to cut in the winter and snow to shovel, and on and on the list would go of undesirable dirty work. As long as I stayed content and uncomplaining in the kitchen where I belonged, I was safe from the backbreaking "manly" work. I was totally fine with that.

He and my mother owned a garage. I would go in to work on Saturdays and help Mom with the paperwork, clean the office, and run the errands. Occasionally I would venture into the back, and satisfy my curiosity. I learned how to scrape gaskets from parts, use the airline to pump the used oil from the oil change barrel, decipher the year/make/model from the sticker in the driver side door. Eventually I could operate the tire machine somewhat safely and do basic stuff like oil changes and tire rotations. But I could always say no if asked to do any of it, as long as I got my butt back into the office and did the "girl stuff".

One day, he was standing around in the shop drinking beer with his buddies and I came in on them having a discussion. He told them "Now Hubba here, she can do all sorts of stuff- can't you honey?" he looked at me, then he gestured rudely at my chest and said "But as long as you've got two of those, you'll never have to worry about any of that".

I looked down at my chest, and back up at the laughing men and all I could think to say was "I'll never have to worry, but you, you will have to worry". I'm sure the menacing effect was totally ruined by my burning cheeks and the fog of beer they watched me through- But I'm sure I saw him falter for just a moment. I'm sure for just a second, he wondered whether he had taught me a little too well.

I hate the way the snow squeaks at 40 below

mumble mutter condensible particulate matter...jet stream... BAH. (Hi Brucie)

Today I make it my mission (after I get the kids to the bus), to take pictures of the cold. I hate winter. I hate Christmas. And New Year stopped being fun after I was about 7. I was born the day before Summer Solstice, and wintertime, well, it just offends me.

So what the hell am I doing in Northern Alberta? Obviously, it's not for the weather, or for the terrific community planning. It's the bloody money, duh.

 Back to my miserable rant about the weather.

Most animals are asleep somewhere warm... not these guys. 

At -13 (current temp), there are still a few die-hard wackjobs out there jogging. Jogging! 
At -15, if you park your car outdoors and your vehicle is warm and it's snowing, the snow melts and re-freezes in a solid layer of ice all over. Your doors will be frozen shut, your windshield wipers will be stuck, and you may actually be forced to... (shudder) SCRAPE.
After about -28 (that's 18 degrees to my friends south of the border), the moisture in the air is totally gone. So instead of the crunch crunch sound, the snow makes a horrible squeaking noise, kind of like rubbing styrofoam packing pieces against a cardboard box. It sets my teeth on edge just thinking about it.

Sunrise 8:20 am (ish) overlooking the stupidest parking lot in the history of ever (Mac's in Eagle Ridge)

After that, there turns out to be no easily discernible difference in temperature. There comes a certain point in the cold where the difference in temperature means freezing to death is only a few seconds one way or the other.

On the flipside- there is nothing quite so satisfying as being the first to tromp through a snow covered field. Even if it has to effing squeak.

Uh, this is getting a little out of hand...

 

image credit

I have been openly mocking the hell out of my good friend Ria for months. She is a "Twihard" (twi-TARD). Every chance I get I post funny cartoons to Facebook, I tease her in person regularly... Once, I mocked her in a text message; "Sorry" I said, "I'm Team Buffy".

My aversion to the whole "Twilight Experience" began when I had the acute displeasure of seeing the first movie on a flight to somewhere, but I hadn't bought headphones. I stared at the screen and marveled at how poor Bella couldn't stop twitching, and poor Edward suffered over her apparent stench. I couldn't for the life of me understand what all the fuss was about! I was determined that the Twilight Saga Bandwagon would pass me by. (Yes, another "bandwagon" thing- do you know I've never seen Titanic?)

Finally, after constant pestering, I accepted the loan of the novels from Ria. I decided I'd give my friend five pages, just five, and I couldn't guarantee that I wouldn't return the collection smelling of vomit. I cracked the first cover Friday night before bed, and now at 5:30 pm on Tuesday, I've just finished the last book.

Damnit I'm ruined. I lost sleep this weekend. Up in the wee hours with the lamp on in the spare room, leaving my bewildered husband to shiver in an empty bed; I tore through the pages, reading until my eyes burned with fatigue. I carried it with me to wait for the kids at the bus stop. I hated to leave the house at all if I couldn't go somewhere to sit and read in peace. What's wrong with me? Is my own little life so dull and empty of romance and adventure that Twilight can take me away so easily? Of all the crazy things.

I look at my sweet husband now, and find myself slightly disappointed. He doesn't sparkle at all. I've been bitten and now there's no going back. Un-Fu**ing-Believable.

Baby it's cold outside... well, sort of.

Current Weather Updated: Fri, Oct. 22, 2010, 7:00 MDT - Fort McMurray Airport

2

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• Feels Like: -
• Wind: 0km/h
• Sunrise: 8:12
• Sunset: 18:05

• Relative Humidity: 93%
• Pressure: 101.71 kPa
• Visibility: 14.0 km
• Ceiling: 1000 ft

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It's cold, it's dark... it's coming. I am less than thrilled about winter. Someone asked me "If you hate winter so much, what the hell are you doing in a place like Fort Mcmurray?"

Well, here's the thing, beyond -5 (that's a whopping 23 degrees to my American friends), I'm NOT going outside anyway! So whether it's -5 or -35, I'm not going out. Even in the "Sunny Okanagan", I stayed indoors for the winter. Too cold is too cold is too cold. 

There's a chance that I will adapt (ha), I remember going home last year in the winter, and compared to the nasty weather we had here, it was bloody balmy. Everyone was bundled up and bitching, and I was strolling around in a sweater. 

Yes, it's coming... Snow on Friday... 

Dying to Death of the "Meh's"

Yep, that's what I look like today. 

 Eventually I might need to eat something other than bread with jam and mini chocolate bars. Apparently you can OD on Hersheys. Symptoms include (not limited to); headache, severe heartburn, digestive upset, lethargy, fatigue, cravings, sore teeth (caramel variety), skin blemishes and, of course, great smelling poo.

 ***update*** So I made it out of the house. I forgot the stuff I was supposed to take with me to mail, forgot the kids swim gear, and one of the little kids peed in the car. One of the kids is swimming in lostandfound trunks that are too big and the lifeguard was nice enough to give me some tape to wrap around so they'd stay up. FML

I give up.

This morning the boys were unusually energetic- even for 7 year olds, even for 6am. They're bouncing around on the sofa, crashing cars and action figures, killing, dying, trying to figure out whether I can hear them so they can use swear words. I have a headache. Suddenly I hear one of them say "Ha Ha I was on a  date with Michael Jackson!!".

That's it. Enough. "WHO SAID THAT!?"...

 they reply "whosaidwhatnow?"

"Do either of you know who Michael Jackson is?"

"umm, he's a stupid singer?"

"Do you know he's dead?"

"uh, yeah, we know"

"Do you know he was a pedophile? Do you know what a pedophile is?"

"yeaahhhh, um... noooo...."

"He did dirty nasty painful things to children! Especially little boys like you!". "NO MORE JOKING ABOUT MICHAEL JACKSON IN THIS HOUSE!"

"Oh, ok..."... ... ... ... "Um, can we still make fun of Justin Bieber?"

Don't Whiz on the Electric Fence!

And whatever you do, DON'T lay on a hedgehog! 

Uh, yeah. The other night I was trying to sleep on the couch because Mr Man was sick and I couldn't listen to the snoring and the hacking and sniffling and snorting and throat clearing. So I stomped downstairs and was about asleep when Sharon the Hedgehog decided it was rally race time on his wheel. I got up and took the wheel out, and apparently, sometime that night, he decided to escape. Yes, he had to scale out of a foot high cage, and fall off a 3 foot high piece of furniture, and spent the rest of the night and all of the next day somewhere downstairs! I don't know how we never noticed, and surely the kids would have found him, they find everything I want them to leave alone. 

Anyway, the following evening I decide to stretch out on the floor while we're watching TV, I move a cushion, flop down and promptly throw myself in the other direction, SCREAMING. I was holding myself off the floor by my fingertips and toenails trying to crane my neck around to see which one of the kids toys is getting thrown out next. And Mr Man tells me "Honey, it's a hedgehog!" WTF. There's Sharon rolled into a nasty spiky ball of (self defense) PAIN AND DOOM. Oh poor little bastard!

Poor ME! That really hurts! It took about 10 minutes to coax him out of his ball, and I let him run around on the floor to make sure he wasn't terribly injured- thankfully he wasn't. Then I put him and his wheel back in the cage with some froot loops (hedgehog crack) as a peace offering, and put the bloody lid back on. 

I assure you, the only animal that was really harmed in this incident was ME. He's up and eating and drinking and back on his wheel, and other than a little distrustful of fat chicks, he seems to be totally recovered. 

The ones that feel like they look good on me, but actually don't.

I need to go buy some clothes. I really don't want to for several reasons... reasons such as-

1, Buying clothes when you're fat is depressing. I have to try everything on, hate most of it, and usually  end up going home empty handed or worse- with a bunch of stuff one size larger than the last time I went.

2, Just because they make some things in my size, doesn't mean I should wear them! Halter style tops, low rise jeans, bathing  suits.... I am fat. Nobody wants to see my back fat or my ass crack, least of all me.

3, Ultimately, there is sh*t for selection- I can either go raid the Walmart for their Fat Grandma clothes (YAY ELASTIC WAIST SLACKS!), or I can go pay through the nose at the "stylish" fat people store for stuff that I will probably only wear once or twice and decide I hate.

4, Ultimately, I hate spending money. Especially on myself. It's a major self esteem issue, and no matter how hard I try to rationalize the necessity, I still feel guilty about buying clothes.

So, off to the Walmart I go for some more yoga pants.

Positive Parenting = Positively a pain in the ass.

It's another one of those Parenting Bandwagon things. I'm pretty sure I can count on one hand how many books I've ever read about parenting. Let me think.... Half. Half of one book on parenting. No kidding. If I'm going to spend time killing myself to death over how to do something, I'm going to read information. If I want advice, I'll call a friend. 

The basics of Positive Parenting as a method, seem to be about recognizing your child as a miniature adult and treating him with respect. Isn't that nice? Yes, when I walk into a room that's been painted with shit (oh thank GOD he never did that!), my first thought is going to be "How creative!", and then I'm going to sit down with the little artist, validate his feelings, and sort out a suitable consequence for his actions. I BLOODY THINK NOT! There will be screaming, there will be a frightening display of anger, possibly some retching and gagging... It will be clear as DAY that painting with shit is not ok. NOT OK!

Mixed media decorating aside- There is a reason we are bigger, stronger and smarter than children! We are meant to protect them from harm, to guide them into adulthood, and ultimately protect OURSELVES from THEM! Can you imagine a 180lb three year old? - no, I don't mean the one you're married to- Could you stop one from running into the street with reasoning? Do you believe that validating the feelings of an adult size toddler is going to prevent him from pulling the tail off of the cat or pushing his sister down the stairs for not sharing her cookies? NO! 

If children were to grow to adult size in the first five years, we would be using cattle prods.

In the real world- the adult world, there are tough consequences. Sometimes these consequences are totally out of proportion with the action. And sometimes, we are forced to accept that the rules aren't always what they are for a good reason; they are just The Rules. Nor do these Rules and Consequences apply to everyone equally. Life is not fair.

My boss (back when I had one) did not give a flying f*ck how I felt when he told me I couldn't change my hours because of child-care needs. It wasn't actually "fair", he had given that option to other employees before me. Even though I was pissed, and most everybody agreed with me, I had no misconceptions that life was wonderful and fair to everybody. I shared my feelings on the matter and it didn't make a damn bit of difference in the situation, but I certainly didn't have a cow about it. It was ultimately up to my boss to decide, and he had no policy on transparent decision making. He made decisions from time to time that followed the classic "Because I Said So" model. And guess what- he's the boss. He may use the feedback he gets to change his policy from time to time, and obviously gets some things right, or he'd have nobody to work for him. Honestly, I still like the guy. I respect his right to exercise authority over his employees. 

At home, I am the boss. I am in charge. My son does talk back. He makes it abundantly clear when he doesn't like the way it is. The best thing I can do for him is to say "I'm sorry you feel that way, that doesn't change the fact that I make the rules, and I say that you are not allowed to (insert challenge to authority here)." I change policy occasionally based on the feedback that I get. As he grows and learns, he develops the ability to reason to a degree, and I adjust accordingly. He has enough sense to walk himself to the bus stop a block away, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let him wander the neighborhood as he pleases. Just because he can turn the TV on by himself doesn't mean he can make sound decisions about what to watch. Not yet anyway.

I would LOVE for my son to grow up in a world that is fair. But teaching him to expect it as his right would be doing him a great disservice. I want him to know that his feelings DO matter, but that they might not always make a difference. There will be times when "Because I said so" is the only answer he will get, and I'm sure that I will not be the last person to say to him; "I'm sorry you feel that way, but..."

So the Positive Parenting Bandwagon is fading in the distance up the dirt track, and we are plodding along on the lonely road of Parenting Realistically. That's the way it is here, and if you don't like it, you can go to your room!

Oh by the way- he learned to ride a bike :) I had to bribe him! Baaahahahahahahahha

No Facebook for a week

Really... No Facebook until next Wednesday. I might die.

"Mean Mommy" / "Ride or Die"

Yup, those are training wheels.... Those are training wheels NOT on my 7 year old's bike. I took them off this morning. He cried.

You see, they were on his "backup" bike. He got a new bike last year, and it had more than one gear, which made it impossible to put training wheels on. I told him then, "pretty soon, you'll be too big for the yellow bike, and you'll have to learn how to ride a two-wheeler just like all the other kids". So he simply refused to get on the new bike, and instead carried on dragging his ass around with the training wheel bike. sigh.

There are a bunch of reasons that he's been on training wheels all this time. Originally, he grew so big, so fast, that balance and coordination were non-existent. Also, the super crazy growth meant super pathetic leg strength. Then it came down to me being lazy. I did not have the time or the energy or the PATIENCE to take him out and teach him. When I did try, the whole experience invariably boiled down to me shouting and swearing, and him doing the walk of shame back to the house while I carried the bike and threatened to beat him with it. Doesn't that sound like fun!?

Not long ago I was whining to my mother about it. What she had to say was interesting;
 "Why are you trying to teach him? A mother has only so much patience! I didn't teach you kids how to ride! . Honestly, I don't know who taught you, maybe your Dad, maybe one of the neighbor kids, but it sure wasn't me, so why do you think it has to be you?"

I gave that some serious thought, and came up with a possible solution. My son happens to adore his uncles, and in particular, my brother in law is not only fit enough to run alongside a bike for more than a few feet, he has the patience of a saint. I dangled that over my son's head to see if it interested him. For a fleeting moment he seemed inspired- until he had to get on the "big bike" that is. His uncle ran back and forth and around and around, all the while holding the bike up while the little shit was whining and refusing to pedal and asking to get off. "I just want to ride my yellow bike with the training wheels!".

Of course, the term "Infinite Patience" isn't entirely accurate. Uncle wasn't going to carry on trying if Nephew refused to make any effort at all. Besides that, the man works full time and has 3 kids of his own at home! Unsurprisingly, he hasn't made it over here since then.
 Stubborn Kid 1 Mom 0.... ZERO.

The day before yesterday, I had an Idea. Our front sidewalk is sloped towards the curb, and the pavement in the street slopes back up to the center of the culdesac we live on. I grabbed some scrap wood and made a little ramp down from the curb.  I thought just maybe if I could get him to try coasting down with no training wheels.... just maybe... Actually, it worked pretty well! Nearly right away, I discovered he had enough balance to coast about 10 feet with his feet off the ground! What he didn't realize, was that it meant that the training wheels were coming off the "backup bike", and the "Kid Gloves" were getting thrown the Fu*k DOWN! I was going to teach him how to ride, come hell or high water.

SO.... It's been 3 days, about an hour a day, we go out front with all the kids in the neighborhood watching and offering encouragement. I've tried everything from pep-talks to bribery to actually kicking him once (he bailed on purpose and nearly tore my arm off), and no matter whether he cries, we don't get to stop until he actually tries. More than once now, he's actually ridden a way on his own, he doesn't get far before he realizes I'm not holding on and freaks out at me. I figure he'll be riding on his own in as little as a week- If I don't end up in jail for beating him out in the street! (ha ha)

I believe there is a strong possibility that my mother did in fact teach me how to ride a bike, although we both seem to have blocked out the memory due to extreme trauma!

Good McMorning to you

My grandmother used to say “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky at morning, Sailor take warning”. I suppose this only applies to living on the water, but I think this to myself every time I see a red dawn like this. There are an awful lot of red dawns here, which means that I am thinking about my grandmother an awful lot. I don’t have a hundred words for how I feel at the moment. A hundred isn’t enough.

Coldplay.

A warning sign, I missed the good part, and I realized, you were an island, and I passed you by, you were an island to discover. Come on in, I’ve got to tell you what a state I’m in, I’ve got to tell you in my loudest tone, that I started looking for a warning sign. And the truth is, that I missed you, yeah the truth is, I missed you so. And I’m tired, I should not have let you go. So I crawled back into your open arms, yeah I crawled back into your open arms…98, 99, 100.

Making up for it (no post yesterday)

So we’re all sitting at the kitchen table and the kids are playing in the living room, when The Man comes in the back yard. I look out the window and he stops at the corner of the walkway, slowly gets down and flops on the grass. The dog is jumping all over him and he’s petting her and just lying there on the lawn like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Considering he hates the dog, and being outside makes him itchy, I know this is anything but “natural”.  Eventually he gets up and comes into the house, and I ask him what he was doing; “did you fall down?” “Are you high or something?”. He replies that he hasn’t had a chance to lie on the grass all summer and it just looked so nice he had to try.  One of the kids pipes up with “WE THOUGHT YOU WAS DEAD BUT WE SAW’D YOUR BELLY MOVING SO WE KNOWED YOU WASN’T DEAD”.  After the spontaneous refrigerator cleanout and the pothole filling in the driveway, I’m starting to wonder whether I’m dead and maybe this is as close to heaven as I’m ever going to get.

Pooetry. Not a misspell.

Moonlight and shadows
Softly together
Like lovers
Moving
Against each other
Silently, slowly
In the night

And the small child walks in to ask “Mom, what are you writing?”  To which I reply, “None of your damn business, sit down and eat your breakfast”

Sniffle, slurrp, cough, and he cranes his head around to peek at the monitor. I would like to poke him in the eye. And the dog starts barking outside, and my coffee is cold, and I look at the clock for the fortieth time and I wonder; will I ever be free? And that’s bad poetry.

weary, bleary, dreary

What, have I been acting a little dark and dreary for you? Don’t get me wrong, my existence isn’t all that bleak. I’m just a little short sighted and a lot tired.  Some people complain that there aren’t enough hours in a day. Hm, there are plenty of hours in the “day”… I want to add about 6 to the night! At least 2-3 to the beginning so I can go be a grownup and ease the stress, and then another 3 before morning so I can get some bloody SLEEP! I would give anything to feel rested for once.

Replaceable.

There is no winning. There is nobody to do this for me when I can’t. So I must always be the one. When I fail, or just can’t get up that one more time, I have to get up and do it anyway. There are some days when I would love to be replaceable. Maybe I am. What if I just didn’t get up. Who would really suffer? Maybe they would suddenly realize that they could manage without me! Would I count that as a success? Would anybody thank me for all I gave? Would I rejoice in becoming obsolete?

Date Night

I love date night. We get a chance to get out and do something “grown up”, not worry about what time we get home. It’s a chance to get our minds off everything that’s going on, everything that’s going horribly wrong. We can pretend we’re happy and just enjoy each other’s company. Sometimes we go to the movies, sometimes we go to dinner- I remember once, we sent the kid out to sleep over, and we just stayed home. The best part about date night is the fighting. The realization that we have nothing in common but misery and bitterness.

Little by Little.

Sometimes I take my socks off by pushing down into the carpet and quickly skidding my foot back; the carpet holds onto the sock and my foot slides out. It doesn’t work with all the socks, but I like it. I know you hate it. I don’t know why you hate it, maybe it’s just because it’s silly and you hate me for having fun. So I keep doing it every chance I get, whether you’re there to disapprove or not. Every time I do it, I think of you and I’m glad you hate it. It makes me happy.

Esprit d'escalier

We were arguing about his morning schedule. It seems that whenever he could be helpful, his schedule would conveniently change to make it impossible. I said “oh so I guess you’re of no use to me whatsoever”, to which he replied “ well, that’s turnabout for you”.

It was all I could do not to throw something at his fat head. I’m usually pretty bitchy in the morning, but this time, I was off my game. So I did what I knew would dig it in for him. I said “Have a great day honey” and I walked the fuck away.

Cliche-aphor.

The dense fog cast the world in a surreal light. Shapes only took form as I moved towards them in the quiet dawn. My footsteps were muted as I made my way down the sidewalk, and I fancied for awhile that perhaps there was nothing beyond the fog at all; it was only coming into existence by the grace of my presence.  As the morning light grew stronger, so too it seemed did the fog. I could actually see it swirling about my feet as I moved through it.  I was lost then, forever, to the mercy of the mist.

ninety nine, ninety eight, ninety seven... I'm not counting the title :)

This relationship is not balanced. You like me way more than I like you, and I don’t know how to explain that. Makes me feel like a total dickhead. When the phone rings and I know it’s you, I cringe and let it ring awhile before I answer it- or I wait and make myself call you back later. Betcha think this post is about you don’t you! Well, it’s probably not. More likely, it’s about you and everybody else! I wonder whether each of us has a limited amount of compassion to use for friendship and other such stuff.

100 words today... and maybe even tomorrow

*a little about this project. I've taken it on a few times over the last several years. There's even a website to do this, but they expect you to really commit to this if you want to maintain the membership. It's 100 words, on any topic- I do it for no particular reason other than it's good brain exercise :)

So, for today...


I used to be good at this. At things in general. Now I just seem to get by. I came across a website today where I could send myself an email now and It would be delivered one year from now. I started, and foundered. I couldn’t think of a single thing worth saying to my “year from now” self. I can’t think past tomorrow.  My days run together and the future means nothing beyond “which kids do I have next week”, and shit, I have to go to the store. Someday maybe I won’t be so bloody, bloody, tired.

So there. That was 100. 

The Answer to the Question of Life, the Universe and Everything

I'm turning 29 on Sunday. And I'm trying not to have a total cow about it.
Nobody talks about "the Big Two Nine", any more than they talk about the "Big Three Two"... All the same, this is a big deal- to me.

I know when I wake up on Sunday, I won't feel different, but a part of me still hopes that I will. I want to wake up and not have to remind myself that I'm in the middle of the Happiness Project, and remember to put on a happy face and be sweet even though I want to chew everyone's head off. I want to wake up and know what I want to do with my life beyond babysit and clean up after my family. I want to wake up knowing the Super Unknowable Secret to Happiness and Success.

I want my Zen back. That's what I want for my birthday. There have been times in my life, when totally by accident, I've been happy and content and satisfied. I didn't have to look for it, or spend hours deliberately focusing on the positive just so I could get through the day without screaming; times when I didn't feel the need to research medications, hoping to find the ultimate pill that would make me into Supermom. Of course, I don't really believe there is such a pill; I know all of that has to come from within.

If only I could just Brain my Heart into cooperation!

Isn't that awful? That picture there is what I feel like I have to do every day!

On the other hand... I am the luckiest unhappy girl in the world. I have a husband and a son who love me and live to make me happy. I get to stay home and take care of my little boy when he's sick. I have a terrible little carpet bomber of a dog who loves to lick my feet. I have a family who would take us in and give the shirt off their backs if we needed it. And I have some of the BEST DAMN FRIENDS in the WORLD! Friends that I can laugh with, cry with, and who love me even when I'm raging. 

God, my life is AWESOME!

There, now all I need to do is forget that I'm TRYING and just BE.

Fruits of my half-assed labor

One of the "projects" I had assigned myself this year was to TAKE MORE PICTURES! So my crummy camera and I have been nearly inseparable, although I usually forget I have it with me!

Here's some of my best shots lately

There are LOTS and lots more... I may eventually get to uploading them all to Kodak... If you'd like to see them and order any prints yourself, send me an email, I might be inspired to get that done :)

The Happiness Project

Day 2 of the rest of my life...

I do a lot of thinking and pondering and contemplating about the current status of my life, my family, my health, etc. I'm a "WHY" person. I have to know WHY things work this way or that way; WHY this happened or that happened, WHY I'm doing this or that... Which is usually a pretty reasonable way to go about things, usually there is an answer or solution to be found in the why.
Like if your foot hurts- Why does your foot hurt? Are your shoes too small? Do you have a splinter or a wart? Did you fall down or drop something on your foot? Are you prone to gout? Ok, so you have a splinter (say). Lets take it out and clean it up and you can stop limping and feeling sorry for yourself... What's that? No, you have no real reason for your foot to hurt? Oh well then SHUT UP. (see that's where the "why" system starts to come apart. Or even better; what? you don't WANT to take the splinter out? Fine. ROT.

What I'm trying to say is- This way of looking at things and treating situations is not getting me more of what I want. My whole life is riddled with idiopathic pain, and not just in the literal sense. My relationships, everything I do, is contaminated with bitterness as a result of apathy, and frustration that even when I do know why things are the way they are, I feel powerless and out of control.

And so, I've decided on a new approach. LET GO! What a novel concept. This is really REALLY a stretch for me. I am freeing myself of paralysis by analysis. I am breaking the cycle of anger-action-failure-anger-action-failure, and HOPEFULLY, as a side effect the unhappy-fat-unhappy-fat-unhappy-fat.... And maybe even the disappointment-react-disappointment-react.

This is the Happiness Project.

I treated myself to some hardcover notebooks yesterday. It was hard to write in the first one. I LOVE blank notebooks. Each one is a work of art waiting to happen. Each clean white page is so perfect and beautiful, waiting for someone perfect and beautiful to grace it with perfect and beautiful work. I certainly don't feel perfect or beautiful these days. Like the notebook now, pages blemished with ink and experience, I am a work in progress.

Yes, a work in progress. All I have for a plan at the moment is to sit and write (and doodle and color) about the good things in my life, instead of focusing on the crappy crap and wondering why it's crappy and wallowing in the futility of it all like I usually do.

And that my friends, is what the Happiness Project is all about.

on the 2nd page, all that desperate scribbling is actually an account of a FB wall encounter between me, my buddy Fraser and also Mona.

it goes like this-

Fraser Wai Kin Lau My acapellas are an act of terror, mad professor, drill sergeant’s skulls with a Black and Decker, anorexic man possessed with Samson’s strength, pull the Pillars of Hercules back together.

Mona Cayley

whatever

Yesterday at 7:31pm

 

Elisheba Christensen

yo yo he's a chinaman boy he aint playin no games he's into kickin some ass but he's takin no names- he's gonna bust tha rhymes like he's bustin yo chops and all yo digits are broke you won't be callin no cops.. Yeah the Po Po now they all in his pocket next to his big gun and also his rocket- so don't dis the boy you should be payin him favors, cause he's tha chinaman boy, he's tha rarest of flavors!

Yesterday at 8:21pm ·

Fraser Wai Kin Lau

Come ooon guys.. It's from a song. Do you _have_ to rag on me? :P

Yesterday at 9:15pm

 

Fraser Wai Kin Lau

And Lisa.. That was amazing. I laughed..

RONG TIME!

Hahaha

Yesterday at 9:16pm

 

Elisheba Christensen

hahahaha SNORT
Love you man.
BTW, I knew it was from a song, I also knew you hadn't heard any made up crap from me in like AGES.
it was a flash of RAP inspiration... it may never come again in this lifetime!

Yesterday at 9:41pm · 

 

It was something I considered to be a "Random Act of Awesome" and deserved to be preserved in my Happiness Project. 

 

 

 

Now, would everybody PLEASE STOP BREATHING!

It was a loooong weekend... It was a busy weekend, it was actually a terrific weekend, but now it is Monday, and I feel like I've been hit by a freight truck.

It all began with having the bright idea that I would make both Aaron and Sam's birthday cakes. Yes, cakes, 2 of them. Then I get to being brilliant and decide that they will both have PIRATE CAKES. Uh, I guess I should let you know that these are 2 grown men I'm talking about, but what caters more to the inner child than birthday cake right? So I brainstorm and make some interesting messes in my kitchen, and I'll post the rest of the gory details at the grill.

By 6pm on Saturday there was enough butter-cream icing spread all over my kitchen to contain another Chernobyl, and I walked the hell away! We were due to arrive at the party before 6 to help Emma get set up, but being as we were already late, I dropped off the cakes and tore over to the beer store. The highlight of my evening was having all of my favorite menfolk in attendance! There was of course Sam and AJ, also Aaron- it was after all his party too, but Diggid and Mike were there. Full roster! Too bad we weren't at my house, I might have got my towel rods put up for me! bwaa haaa haaaaaa. I heart heart heart polygamy :)

Many, many honey brown lagers later... I poured myself out of the passenger seat in my own garage, teetered around the block with Lucy- who had got bored and ate half of my reusable shopping bags (it's the only thing she could reach)- and tromped up to bed.

Ahhh, blissful, inebriated, comaaaa. No, maybe not so much... YELLOW. I roll out of bed and look out the window. YELLOW. I wander down the stairs and put on the kettle- there's a vibration in the floor, or is that post drinking shakes? I decide to go out front to smoke, as there seems to be no stairs outside my back door. YELLOW. I sit down on my front porch, and hear a big crash, loud enough to be heard over the roaring of a very large engine... OH RIGHT! There's a bloody EXCAVATOR IN MY BACK YARD! I dash out to the back and there's Sam and the neighbor guy doing the very manly dance of "shovel leaning and important gesturing", and my whole backyard is nice and level! oooooh. I are sooo pleased!

Ok, now I'm awake! OMG look at my kitchen :S
I cleaned it all up just in time for David to arrive and start Bombing. Melting chocolate,beating egg whites, spraying whipping cream out of the mixer and all over the counters... It was a BEAUTIFUL and very tasty mess.

Emma made an appearance, as well as Aaron, the girls, and Grandpa Hawk (Aaron's daddy), and it took the majority of the afternoon to make enough room in my kitchen to start supper. Mmm, stir-fry. Somehow, I had forgotten what a bloody mess stir-fry makes.

I suppose some of you might be wondering what the hell the point is to this whole story... well, there ISN'T one! HA!

Eventually, everyone gets fed, I abandon the mess, run out with Emma for an Extra Large Double Double (oh, yes, our very favorite late nite treat- and we both wonder why we can't sleep!), and return home to an excruciatingly warm house. I get all snuggled down in the spare room with the window cranked open as far as it will go, and Sam starts snoring so loud, I had to get up and shut his door. That was muted just nicely when AJ turned over on his back and started competing/harmonizing with his father from across the hall. Arrgh. I get up, shut AJ's door, and my door, and sure as hell,  the dog decides she's too hot and has ants in her pants- she starts huffing and panting and snorting and thrashing around in her kennel... So the dog goes downstairs, I stagger back up to bed and do the best impression of a lousy nights sleep I've done in awhile.

Now it is Monday, and I get to do it all over again!
(says the girl who might start sleeping in the garage).

I think you're Beurre Mom...

My six year old came home from school the other day and gave me a piece of cardboard. It was off a box of microwave popcorn, and it was the French side apparently. He said to me, in his best little boy voice "Here Momma, I found this at school; it says "Beurre" but I wanted it to say Beautiful. Do you want to keep it?"


Oh, yes, I would like to keep it.