To Husbands Everywhere,

Hi there.

I just have a little something to say. Before I start, let me disclaim that I’m positive not everyone will feel the same as I do but I’m also positive that there are way too many wives who can relate to what I’m about to say.

Let’s talk about insensitivity. Just for a moment.

I’m sure that most husbands will counter with their feelings of us wives being insensitive, and some of us are. BUT…many of us are oversensitive. And insecure about so many aspects of ourselves. Especially when we’ve been home all day with the kids and we are still wearing our p.js and in dire need of a touch up job on our hair color.

We women? We don’t appreciate it when you are openly and obviously staring at another woman. Who, by the way, is staring back at you. Hello. You are standing right next to your wife. Who wants to become invisible because of how shitty this visual exchange of obvious…hello, I want to fuck you…is making her feel.

Yeah…that sucks. And remember, when we are dressed up and looking hot, men are doing that to us. Guess what we are thinking…Hello, I want to fuck you. But, we are usually less obvious about it because we know how it makes us feel when you do it in front of us.

No, we aren’t dead. None of us are. And yes, we look. But how about taking feelings into account?

I can’t think of anything, aside from actual cheating, that makes us wives feel worse about ourselves than when our husbands feel the need to stare and drool over another woman in our presence.

The excuse that “she stared first” is unacceptable. She was staring because by you staring, it gave her permission. Duh.

Just a side note to those women out there who like married men, you’re assholes. Seriously. On such a major level of asshole-ishness. Also ladies, when a man is obviously with his wife, you don’t have to be so obvious it your staring. Because let me tell you something, we wives may have insecurities but it’s you who must be really insecure to behave like that. It’s of my own personal opinion that secure women don’t do things like that and if we do, you’d never know it because we have the class to stare discreetly.

Back to our dear husbands.

Your wives are tired. They’ve worked all day, whether it was with the kids…which IS work, by the way. Or they were out of the home, working. Or in the home, working. And then tending to the needs, wants…of the family and the house. They are exhausted.

A little support would be nice. Like…”Hey honey, thank you for all you do.” Or how about a kiss and a hug, just to show you care. And let’s not forgot…”You look nice tonight” or maybe, “You’re beautiful”. Some appreciation shown. Yeah, that would be fabulous and a little might actually go a long way.

You have to give to receive, fellers. If we aren’t getting anything, and I’m not just talking about sex, then eventually we aren’t going to give. Because why would we?

So, you’re in a bad mood? I’m sorry. I get it, trust me. Stress is a killer. And life is stressful. Stop taking it out on us, how about it? Your job? Your back? Your whatever? OK, sorry to hear it but, how about talking to us about it instead of being a douchestick? We’re your wives. Aren’t we supposed to be BFF’s? Partners in crime? True love forever? Yeah…so how about letting us in instead of being emotionally unavailable. I’m thinking that when one partner isn’t there emotionally, it just sort of pushes the one there and waiting…further away. After all, what do we really need you for, if you aren’t there? We have our girlfriends to talk to.

And we are all saying pretty much the same things about our husbands.

We love you. Wake up. We are here, right in front of you. Remember how it used to be? Talking about everything, being concerned about each other…and showing it?

It is a two way street, yes. But dudes, we all have to meet halfway. It gets tiring otherwise.

Let’s stop thinking with our penis and dollar signs. Ok?

Love,

Some of us wives who will stick by you no matter what but are sick of our feelings being insignificant to the person who matters most to us.

Marriage is hard work. Let’s stop making it harder, OK?

I’ve been trying, for two days, to put down my feelings about Mothers Day this year.

So hard to do.

I can’t even tell you how many drafts I’ve deleted.

Trying to take my emotions and put them into words seem so flat.

So, I’ll just say how I’m feeling.

Today is almost as hard as my moms birthday was.

The sense of loss is so great and it’s more pronounced when days like Mothers Day some along.

We used to celebrate her, every year. For my entire life.

This is the first time that I’m celebrating her and she’s not here.

My heart hurts.

I’m emotional and weepy.

My family always made a big deal about birthdays, Mothers Day and Fathers Day.

Probably because it was excuses to go to really nice family dinners. Or holiday buffets.

This year, no buffet.

No brunch.

No mom.

No looking for the perfect cherub or garden faerie for her gorgeous gardens.

No trying to find a card that is not too mushy and not too funny.

And it’s really hard.

Mothers Day has never been about the fact that I’m a mother now.

It was always about the mother who brought this mother into the world.

It was always about the mother who brought my sister, another mother, into the world.

Today, I went to a flea market.

One that my parents took me to as a girl.

One that I’ve taken my kids to.

My husband and I walked up and down the fun, junk filled aisles.

The same ones that have been there for years.

And all I could see was the ghost of my mom, picking up jewelry and rubbing it to see if it was bakalite.

I had fun, I did.

But, the heaviness today is there.

As the day progresses, it gets heavier.

Because, more than anything…

I wish that I could celebrate one more Mothers Day with my mom.

So today, on Mothers Day,

Hug your mom tightly.

Call her.

Tell her you love her.

Let her know you appreciate her.

Get her a garden faerie or cherub to put in her garden.

Enjoy your Mothers Day with you Mommy!

Enjoy it with your families.

And if you are in the same unfortunate club that I’m in, I’m sending you hugs.

I’ll be thinking of you and planting some basil in my herb garden. I know it seems funny but it’s what I’m doing today.

To all you Moms out there,

Have a wonderful Mothers Day.

You are appreciated.

You ARE mom enough!!

The controversial photo. All I see is a kid who is going to get harassed when he gets older

I read the Time Magazine article here. The whole Mommy community has been set ablaze and we are all posting our response to it.

Why?

It puts THAT question in our heads, the one we sometimes think about in the middle of the night… “Are we mom enough?”.

Yeah. We are.

We are mom enough.

It doesn’t matter what your parenting style is.

It doesn’t matter if you choose to nurse or bottle feed.

It doesn’t matter if you choose to spank or stick with time outs.

It doesn’t matter if you choose circumcision or not.

It doesn’t matter if you let your child cry it out or tend to its every squawk.

It doesn’t matter if you choose cloth or Pampers.

It doesn’t matter if you decide to use Nestle or another brand.

IT DOES NOT MATTER.

It doesn’t matter because it’s nobody else’s business but your own.

That is the one thing that sickens me about some of the blogging community. Just because someone has an opinion doesn’t give them the right to insult, belittle, harass, gang up on…anyone who doesn’t share the same beliefs. Which, I’ve seen AND experienced all too often.

You do what you want to do to raise YOUR OWN children and I’ll do what I see fit for my own.

Stop judging.

Anyhow…I read that article and I didn’t understand how it became an “us vs. them” type of issue. Except for the fact that drama made it so.

What I took away from that article was that Dr. Sears worked damn hard to get to where he is today and he touched millions of people who chose to parent by his book. And? So?

How does that have ANYTHING to do with being mom enough?

It doesn’t. Not a thing.

We are ALL mom enough.

We all have one battle wound or another that has deemed us worth in the Parent Hall of Fame or Shame.

I thought a bit before I actually responded to this article because I’m sort of sick of the whole drama war thing that happens. But, I decided that I was going to voice my opinion too, especially after I saw this come through my Facebook timeline.

This photo.

It wasn’t that photo so much as the real one. But seeing the farce sort of hit a nerve.

In a Detroit Free Press article that was written about me a couple years ago…which, I can’t find the link to…

I was told that I share too much about my family…particularly my children…on my blog.

I do. Sometimes.

But, if you’ll notice, I took all the photos of my children down. Sure, they are still somewhere on the internet, but not so much on my blog anymore. It also had to do with a PSYCHO STALKER who was harassing me but that’s another story that I’ll share another time.

I stopped with the photo sharing because it stays online FOREVER. And I didn’t want my kids to, someday, have any of that come back to haunt them.

That photo on the cover of Time?

Now, I don’t know that blogger nor do I know her reasons for her posing in that particular way. So, I’m not going to say anything directed toward her. I’m respectful like that.

That photo will never. EVER. Go away.

That child will FOREVER have that to reckon with in one way or another.

It’s not about the breastfeeding because I breastfed. Quite frankly and for all I care, people can breastfeed until their kids go to college, it’s none of my business.

It’s not about the fact that the breastfeeder is a rather LARGE pre-schooler. Again, I don’t care. That’s their thing. My last one quit my breast after 7 months. I wasn’t ready, he was.

I realize that the magazine used a picture to stir up commotion and props to them because commotion and chaos was stirred.

Again, only those who decide to get into the thick of it can stir up the mud. Or however the saying goes.

Whatever.

There’s always something that causes panties to give wedgies.

Luckily, when you go commando…no wedgies.

So, wars can continue around me. Who’s right and who’s wrong. It’s a never ending and VERY LOUD conversational argument.

My main concern is that poor kid.

You KNOW that picture will resurface when he is in high school.

Then, it doesn’t matter if anyone was MOM ENOUGH.

Because that damage was done.

No matter how cuddled, kissed, loved, nursed he was.

That picture…

Well, that and the stinking title of the article…

Mostly the picture…

Was my main problem with that entire article.

So, let the war continue, I’ve had my say.

No judging here, I’m going commando.

I was a senior in high school so, probably around 18 years old. I had a couple friends who were freshman but they all turned 15 around the same time I turned 18. So…a 3 year age difference. I didn’t care, it wasn’t something I really thought about.

I have no idea why I was friends with these couple of girls. We probably had friends in common. Or we smoked in the bathroom. Whatever, either way, we hung out a bit. Tanned together in my backyard or in one of theirs. We weren’t together all the time, these weren’t close friends.

The most vivid recollection I have is…one day we were tanning on one of the girls driveway. We had record jackets with foil on them because it was early Spring and the sun wasn’t that strong yet. But, we wanted to get a head start on a tan. Particularly me because I was going to be leaving on my senior trip soon. I was headed to Mexico.

Anyways, back to the driveway with foil covered record jackets…

We were getting cold and hungry so we went into her house for a snack.

The mom, and what a nice lady she was *eye roll*, was in the kitchen, the exact room we were headed to.

She was reading some book about how to attract and marry a millionaire. And no, I’m not joking.

We grabbed some snacks and sat giggling at the kitchen table.

Looking up from her book at us, she glared at me. I was all like…blushing in discomfort. Because why would this woman, who doesn’t know me, be glaring at me, right?

The only words out of this woman’s mouth were…”Why are you, a senior, hanging out with freshman?”

I don’t remember what I answered but soon after that, the friendship faded. The mom made it obvious she didn’t want her daughter hanging out with my moms daughter because of a 3 year age difference. And anyways, that girl was WAY wilder than I ever was so it was probably for the best.

Which brings me to my point at hand.

I have a 16 year old boy that lives with me. He’s cute. I gave birth to him so my opinion on his looks, it doesn’t matter.

Trust me though, he’s really cute.

Girls like him.

But lately, there is this 19 year old girl hanging out with him.

Yes. 19.

Which would be cool if he were, say, 21.

Or if they were…say…Justin Beiber and Selena Gomez.

Even then, as a mom, I’d have a slight problem with this cradle robber.

He’s 16. She’s 19. They don’t go to school together. Obviously.

Even if they were the same age, they wouldn’t be in the same school because she doesn’t live around these here parts. She lives close enough to come pick up my son though.

My son is upset because I less than approve. As in…way less.

All I can think about is that mom who asked me why I’m 18 and hanging out with 15 year olds. Only, we were girls. A tad bit of a difference, I dare say.

Why would a 19 year old girl be hanging out with a 16 year old boy. I get why a 16 year old boy would be hanging out with a 19 year old girl. I really hope that my son isn’t like one of “those” 16 year old boys.

He apparently isn’t even proud of it of this budding love affair, neither is she. Wanna know how I know? She doesn’t come in the house. AND…she doesn’t park in my driveway. Like the hired help. Hmmm…

I totally realize that I can put my foot down. And I will. I just know that more you tell a kid no about, the more they are going to go behind your back. I was that kid.

So is my son.

I just want her to come into my house. Sit in my kitchen. Eat a snack. So I can have a nice little talk with her while reading a book about Martial Arts for Dummies or something.

I want to ask her why she is spending time hanging out with 16 year olds when she should be hanging out with COLLEGE KIDS.

Just like that mom, all those years ago, asked me.

Only, wait a minute…I just sorta remember why I was hanging out at that girls house…

I had a crush on her brother.

What? He was cute.

And…

He was MY age.

Yeah.

MY AGE.

I used to cook a lot. I loved experimenting with different recipes which encouraged my family to explore different foods.

I’d buy books, subscribe to magazines, pour through websites, all in the name of finding recipes to try out. I have a folder in my email specifically for recipes to make and share with the family.

My husband wanted me to cook most nights during the week. So, I did.

I’d go from market to market, just to collect the ingredients I needed. I mean, only the freshest and best for my family.

I’d spend mornings marinading and afternoons, preparing. Dinnertime is 6:30 in my house and g-d forbid it should be a little late.

I’d slave over hot ovens and coals, just to bring a delicious, aromatic meal to the dinner table in time to feed those growling tummies.

Yeah.

Every single night that I set the food down onto the table, I was rewarded with crying, whining, snarling and complaining.

“Why don’t you EVER make anything WE like”, they’d tantrum.

So…

I did what anyone in their right mind would do after being responded to that many times…

I quit.

I threw in the hot mitt.

I retired from the kitchen.

Well, sort of.

Instead of fancy, they got plain.

They still complained.

Instead of plain, the got microwaved.

They still complained.

I threw up my chicken germed, salmonella infested hands in exasperation.

What’s a mother and wife to do when a family needs to be fed yet doesn’t appreciate when this happens?

Pizza. Noodles. You’re on your own.

Now, a few years later, after starving my family, it seems I’m supposed to start the cooking thing again.

I’m on day 3.

Tonight we are having a concoction that I found on the internet after I googled all the ingredients I had sitting in front of me.

Minus the taco seasoning because apparently it was a home for wayward bugs. Yeah.

So, here I go again.

Planning meals.

Executing meals.

Washing bugs off the chicken because I mistakenly mistook it for taco seasoning.

Presenting said meals, minus bugs. I hope.

I wonder what the chances are of having a normal dinner, complete with “Hi honey, how was your day” instead of red faced tantrums over “how can you think we’d eat this?” conversation.

I’m betting I’m going to be going back to my old ways soon enough…

THEM: “What’s for dinner?”

ME: “I don’t what you’re eating but I’m going out.”

Me thinks it worked much better that way, with much less stress.

Well, except for the hubby who doesn’t care what he eats as long as he eats.

So, there’s that. Kinda.

Anyways, after today’s run-in with those little bugs in the taco seasoning…

They are all on their own.

I mean…EW GROSS!! Who needs that!

When you’re the mom of teens, you laugh in the face of a 2 year olds tantrum…those have NOTHING on teenagers.

When you’re the mom of teens, your indoor voice becomes your outdoor voice simply to make sure you can be heard over their obnoxiousness.

When you’re the mom of teens, Footloose, Fun and Fancy Free are simply the names of movies.

When you’re the mom of teens, their angst becomes your nervous breakdown.

When you’re the mom of teens, your internal thoughts have more swear words than a late night truck stop.

When you’re the mom of teens, panic is the new calm.

When you’re the mom of teens, just because you can sleep through the night doesn’t mean you CAN sleep through the night.

When you’re the mom of teens, grey is rose colored.

When you’re the mom of teens, you look longingly at small children and remember when.

When you’re the mom of teens, you rethink your decision on becoming a parent, despite the fact that it’s just too late to take it back.

When you’re the mom of teens you realize that as exhausting as it was to have little ones, it’s got NOTHING on the bigger ones.

When you’re the mom of teens, you begin complaining more about them than you do your husband.

When you’re the mom of teens, you spend a lot of time apologizing to your own parents while thinking to yourself that you were NEVER as awful as your own flesh and blood are.

When you’re the mom of teens, you begin counting down the days until the house is an empty nest.

When you’re the mom of teens, you spend a lot of time taking deep breaths and talking yourself down.

When you’re the mom of teens, you also spend a lot of time visualizing slapping the them silly…and not in a funny way.

When you’re the mom of teens, you realize how really good you had it when they were small.

When you’re the mom of teens, you begin to notice that smell, which is encapsulating the house…it’s coming from your kids room yet there is NO WAY IN HELL you’re going to set foot in there. So you shut the door.

When you’re the mom of teens, you welcome trading horror stories with your friends because it makes you feel normal.

When you’re the mom of teens, threats and bribes become a means of survival.

When you’re the mom of teens, you squint a lot when looking at your kid because, in just the right light, you can see the small child he used to be.

When you’re the mom of teens, you want to cry because of how badly you miss your babies.

When you’re the mom of teens, you want to squeeze them because you DO know what they are going through. But a)they won’t let you and b)they smell.

When you’re the mom of teens, you still love them with the same intensity but you hate them with that same intensity too.

When you’re the mom of teens, you pray a lot that you’ll never be the mom of a teen mom.

When you’re the mom of teens, you now know exactly what your own mother meant when she wished one like yourself on you because you’re wishing one on them.

When you’re the mom of teens, you’re heart still soars when you think of them and then sinks when they open their mouths.

When you’re the mom of teens, running away from home sounds like a great idea…for you.

When you’re the mom of teens, your hanging on for life because it’s the bumpiest, scariest roller-coaster ride on the planet.

I hate going into the whole synopsis of the movie so, guess what…I’m not going to. It’s a superhero movie. It has action. Suspense. Great one-liners. And some superheros.

I was invited to the screening of The Avengers and eagerly accepted. I’m a sucker for action movies. Especially when there are superheros involved.

LOVED IT.

Sure, it was sort of predictable. Sure, there was some hokey parts. There were some unanswered questions that you think about after the movie ends. That’s to be expected. I mean, what’s a movie without those elements, right? Seems like it’s par for the Hollywood course.

Personally, I thought Scarlett Johansson’s part, the Black Widow, was pointless. But, I guess the producers needed a woman to give the guy viewers someone to drool over. Although, I have never seen her drool factor but I’m not a guy, maybe that’s why.

I saw The Avengers in 3D. I’m thinking that because of there being so much action, maybe regular viewing might be better BUT they did a REALLY good job with the 3D effects. I ducked and moved out of the way a few times.

Anywhoo…

The Avengers brings back Loki, who is AWESOME…and rather handsome…who is trying to lead an army from somewhere in the nether-regions of outer-space to come and wipe out the planet so that he can rule it. And, it’s our Avengers; Thor, Iron Man, Hawkeye, The Hulk, Captain America and his Mighty Shield and whatsherface…

And TONS’O'ACTION.

I mean…TONS.

Yes, it’s getting bombed by the critics. But, this is how I see it.

I’m am Jane Doegeneralpublic. I’m NOT watching a movie with a critical eye. I’m not a reviewer. I’m the person that pays the money and wants to be entertained.

I have 3 options.
A. I’m not entertained to various degrees.

B. I’m eh, whatever to varying degrees.

C. I’m entertained. Again…to varying degrees.

I was C. BIG TIME C.

Again, that’s me. A representative of the Jane Doegeneralpublic. Who really, really enjoyed the movie. For all it’s faults that the critics are finding. For all it’s too-much-edness.

LOVED IT.

And…

I’m going to see it again. On Saturday. With my husband who was very jealous that he couldn’t go with me.

The critics need to lighten up. Sit back, stop analyzing. Be entertained.

The Avengers…now THAT’S entertainment.

In theaters now.
No clue of the rating but I’d probably take my 8 year old.

OOOOHHH…and P.S. We have issues suddenly. Not major ones. BUT…Fantastic Four? Yeah, they fought along with The Avengers. And Capt. America actor dude also was the Flame-On dude. How are they gonna pull that one off?

I am honored and thrilled to guest post on Rock and Drool today. I often think that Melissa and I share a brain. There have been several occasions when I’ve had to stop reading and look at the title of the blog again to remind myself that I did not write what I’m reading. From our eating and dieting issues to the way we really LIVE in our homes (and our yards…), it is seriously frightening. If you didn’t keep up with her posts on the housing debacle, you should now. Go on…I’ll wait.

Okay–Melissa was nice enough to give me the opportunity to share my story with her readers–I’m not sure that I can fill her shoes, but I am honored to at least borrow them for today!

PART 1
Yesterday I was “applying” to write for different places and realized that I didn’t know which samples of my writing I should send. I know that my blog writing style is in NO WAY appropriate for…well…REAL writing gigs, so it’s kind of a trying task, one I usually leave to my husband, but that is only so helpful (until it is not helpful anymore)!

What I discovered is, I LOVE my new blog friends. Really. I read their blogs and think, “Wow–I am so lucky to KNOW these writers!” and “THAT is EXACTLY what I wanted to say! I wish I could write like THAT person!” Sometimes I even regret reading their posts because I am afraid that I WOULD HAVE written something similar and now can’t for fear of plagiarizing. It’s complicated being in my brain–I suggest you avoid it at all costs!

Anyway, my blog friends Perspective Parenting and I could have been mother of the year if… left such nice comments and REALLY made me feel good about myself (THANK YOU,LADIES!) and my husband…well, my husband left a comment because he thinks he is funny, but I REALLY want to know which ones are better than others. I am NOT fishing for compliments (though I DO love the ones I got!)–I just never know which posts I should choose to give people the impression that I am sometimes funny. Or informative. Or entertaining. Or NOT the crazy person I appear to be. You understand.

Some may find this vain–like I must be vain to even THINK that people would want to read what I have to say. Maybe it is, but I cannot believe that ANYONE would think that I am vain (is THAT vain?!). Of course, my mother indicated that SHE thought I was being vain when we had our first discussion about Words With Friends.

I had just started playing and had won my first fifteen games. I am NOT saying this to brag…I am saying it because it HAPPENED. I was telling my mother about an ongoing “chat” with my friend, Bill who accused me of cheating (and other things), but was HILARIOUS in his responses to me. I would think of a word and laugh before I played it because I knew he would hate me for it and would have some smartalecky (yeah–that’s what I said) comment about it. The whole thing made me laugh and I was telling my mother (I KNOW you are probably reading this (ten years after I write it), but I am telling the story as I remember it, MOM!) about Bill and about the fact that I was afraid that people wouldn’t want to play with me anymore. My mother could barely contain her eye roll as she told me that I just wasn’t playing with the “RIGHT PEOPLE.”

WITH THE RIGHT PEOPLE?! Now, I KNOW she meant it because she thought I was all full of myself and not because she thinks I’m a dumbass (I’m actually NOT so sure about THAT), but what does that say about the people I play against? If I’M a dumbass and I’M beating THEM, what does that make THEM? I am SO insulted–for them AND for me!

I of course called her on it and thought she would retract her statement (I’m not sure WHAT in our history made me think THAT), but she only reiterated what she had initially said (still so mean!) and mentioned the people she played with all over the world who have like six hundred point games. (Who is bragging NOW?!) I was DEFINITELY getting defensive at this point because she said this in a voice that indicated that I would NEVER be in such a high scoring game. The problem with this situation (and situations LIKE this one) is that no matter what I said I would sound whiny and juvenile and, yes, like a braggart, even IF I just wanted to state the facts (like I had SEVERAL games where we scored OVER EIGHT HUNDRED points) and let her know that I didn’t always annihilate my friends…many of them really kept me on my toes with two of us playing over thirty points each play. At this point it only sounded like I was trying to give credit to “the little people” so that I wouldn’t LOOK LIKE a braggart. FRUSTRATING!

This brings me back to nine years ago when we built our second home. We didn’t build our SECOND home. Our FIRST home was an adorable little “bungalow” in Warrenton, Virginia (NOW I guess I am bragging by calling it “adorable,” but why is it that liking things in your life and stating what you believe to be fact is construed as “bragging”? I don’t like it.) and we went all Trading Spaces on it (only no one traded anything and Paige and Ty and Hildy never made it to Sycamore Street in Warrenton, though we constantly planned out who we would trade with IF we got on the show. We even got the application at one point, but anyone who knows us knows that getting the application is about as far as we get on ANYTHING. Luckily we didn’t need to go through an application process to have the three maniacs. THEN you would get back the twenty minutes you just lost reading this. Hmmm…), it looked FANTASTIC (yes, I know–BRAGGART)! We only lived there a year and were able to sell it for significantly more than what we paid for it–because of the market at the time and because of what we did to it.

Which brings me to the ONLY house we built, but the SECOND house we owned. Though I don’t really like to use the word “owned” considering we paid money to the bank every month that we lived there. OWNING would indicate that we DIDN’T need to pay anyone to live there. Let’s say that it was the second house we didn’t rent. THAT isn’t a mouthful or anything. Rolls RIGHT off the tongue…

So, my husband got this amazing promotion (and worked for these AMAZING people) which brought us to Fredericksburg, Virginia so that he could run an office there. Because of the promotion and the money we made off of our first house, we were able to build our “dream” home and (bragging alert) it was beautiful. Almost TOO beautiful. People treated us differently–assumed we were snobs. Even some of our friends who knew us BEFORE the fancy house treated us differently. Friends from college stayed with us and called it “The MANS” because they joked that it was like a mansion. We filled it with nice things and nice furniture–most of which we got at Marshalls or The Maxx (T.J. Maxx) and Kirklands–stores with discounted decor. We have NEVER gotten along as well as we did when we built and decorated that house, which is weird because you hear all the time about how husbands and wives fight about those things. We had the same idea of everything we wanted and it turned out great. (NOT bragging. I’ll post pictures. Yeah right…’cause I am SO GREAT at posting pictures…)

Stay with me–there IS a point to this line of questioning–or answering. Where was I? Oh yeah–so neighbors would come over and introduce themselves, telling us that they had walked through our home as it was being built (which is kind of funny since WE weren’t allowed to walk through it as it was being built!) and wondering what the owners would be like. Imagine their disappointment when they met us!

It’s funny because so many people tried to make us into the people who they THOUGHT we would be by looking at our home, but we were still…us. Sure, the house was ENORMOUS and OH-SO-MUCH cleaner then, but we moved in when I was pregnant with Brayden. Although the house was huge, it wasn’t too hard to keep up with it since it was only the two (and a half–then three) of us. As I had more babies, it became more difficult. Actually, after my first, my husband’s “Thank you for giving birth to my baby” gift was to have someone come in to clean. SO. GREAT. Even better than “SO.GREAT,” but I am tired and cannot come up with stronger words. Just know that I think longingly of that time every time I step on an old piece of oatmeal or a defrosted blueberry. *sigh*

SO…there is oh-so-much for me to talk about here, but I need to bring it back to my mother (I am QUITE certain she is THRILLED about THAT information!). She was one of the first people to stay with us in the new home and (naturally) I wanted to impress her. It’s funny–in college, my friend Jen shared something her mother used to say, “There are THREE sides to every story: YOUR side, MY side, and THE TRUTH.” I never forgot this and lived by it. When I look back on my mother’s visit, I am giving you MY side and I realize now that HER side is probably very different. As I was trying to impress her, SHE was thinking I was bragging, which I find so weird because anyone who knew (or knows) anything about me knows that I am one of the most insecure people you could ever meet (which usually is the reason for bragging, I know, but I am completely ANTIbragging–I swear!). I’ve DEFINITELY been working on this and think I give the opposite impression now, but that is mostly because I am too tired for the garbage. I try to just say what I think and feel and am unable to sugar coat or think of the consequences anymore. I’m tired.

Okay…so my mother and I are driving around Fredericksburg and there is a cute little rambler for sale. I say, “Oh–that’s a cute house!” to which my mother responds, “Oh, Nika–don’t be a snob!” WHAT?! Don’t be a snob?! I sincerely meant that it was a cute house and wasn’t even THINKING about MY home at this point, but my mother, after staying in “The MANS” assumed I had become a snob and a braggart and couldn’t possible LIKE the house I pointed out to her. So. Sad. For ME because that is most certainly NOT the impression I wanted to give and for HER because how horrifying would it be to actually think that you raised a SNOB?! Slob, okay, but SNOB…? NEVER!

Which brings me to now. I think that most people read my self-deprecating words and know that I simply say what is on my mind and I’m not really too sure about myself and I would THINK that my mother would know that she didn’t raise ANY of us to be full of ourselves, but she obviously forgot. Or maybe my attempts at impressing her (my side) made her believe that I was full of myself (her side) when really I was the same person living in a fancier house (the truth).

The thing is, after the first few months living there, we tried to downplay the house and everything in it. People would come in and say things like, “Pshaw (yes–that’s a thing!) Must be NICE to have a house like this!” “Must be NICE to have fancy furniture!” and “I wonder why YOU guys get to live in a house like this…” REALLY?! I remember when people would say things like this and I wouldn’t say anything–I felt guilty and uncomfortable and kind of agreed with them. Why DO we deserve to have this house? It ISN’T fair to others. Looking back, I feel angry. I would NEVER go into a person’s home and question ANYTHING. It wouldn’t even OCCUR to me to think that they didn’t deserve to be there. I would maybe compliment their stuff and think, “Maybe some day WE could have this” or “Wow–good for THEM!” and never even CONSIDER that it would one day be me. Because it wasn’t ABOUT me. Why did others make OUR house about THEM?!

The end of this terribly long post (or Terrible AND long post…) will be posted later. NO ONE should be forced to read much more than what I’ve written (Your side), even IF it is hilarious (MY SIDE), which I think we all know it’s NOT. (the truth.)

PART 2

Part 2 of the housing debacle

The other shoe fell. The housing market started to crash and my husband’s company closed his office. He took a job out of Wilmington, NC and we tried to sell our house–no bites. His new company allowed him to work out of the house (on commission only) and we were primarily living off of savings. Luckily, we had a lot of that from when times were good. Only, it’s funny (or in fact, not-so-funny) how quickly you burn through savings when there is hardly any money coming in…too quickly. I went back to teaching (you know–that lucrative profession that is so revered…) and we attempted to make it on what we were both bringing in, but we worked through our savings and the teaching salary didn’t cut it. My husband looked for work and finally found it–across the country in Kalispell, Montana (or MonFREAKINtana) and we tried a short sale on our house. Only AFTER we decided on the short sale (and had buyers) did people start coming out of the woodwork wanting to buy the house. Almost everyone I knew called to tell me about SOMEONE who wanted to buy our home. Only WE were in Montana and our HOME was in Virginia. We relied on our “realtor” to do right by us and THAT was like the ZILLIONTH mistake we made in what we can refer to as “The Downfall of the Corwin Empire.” Okay–THAT may be braggartly (?!), but it makes me laugh–I’m not sure why. I’m not sure why ANYTHING makes me laugh, so give me a break, okay?

So I agree that if you are selling your home it is okay to use a For Sale by Owner, HelpUSell or something along those lines, but after trying to sell our home and failing, we put it on the market a year later, and as I mentioned above, decided to do a short sale (after depleting our savings) and went through HepUSell. The problem with this plan was the fact that realtors for those companies only make a set amount–UNLESS they do a short sale. The guy we worked with told us all about it–and that he primarily does short sales because it’s the only way for him to make good money. Red flag? You’d think, but no. He was clearly not inspired to do any WORK for us, he just wanted to collect his fat check. After dragging his feet for eight or nine months (and preventing the fine family who waited patiently to move into “The MANS” from looking to purchase elsewhere), the deal finally fell through. He never passed the paperwork on to the right people…though we cannot solely blame him. WE probably should have tried to sell sooner–instead of trying to make it work when times were tough and even if he HAD done his part…Wells Fargo OWNED our loan and had HSBC servicing it so it was almost impossible to get ANYONE to help us or to answer our questions. After nearly eight months, our loan ended up with Countrywide who rejected the short sale immediately. I don’t even remember the whole thing, it was maddening–especially when we already felt like the dregs of society for doing the short sale–NOW we were moving into FORECLOSURE…for shame!

What I DO remember about this time is getting a phone call from HelpUSell guy on a particularly trying day after I had just had surgery. We hadn’t heard from him in a while and had begun to lose hope, as we could not afford to keep up payments on a home we were not living in AND pay for a place…well…to ACTUALLY live in with our family.

Just a side note, there was definitely a time when I was afraid that we would not have a place to live–AT ALL. I know that family would have eventually learned of what was going on and insisted that we stay with them rather than be homeless, but this was a definite possibility for our family. I have NEVER been so afraid–what kind of parent WAS I anyway? How could I let it get to the point where my babies could very well not have a place to sleep? I am so glad that I have NEVER been one to judge people who are homeless or needy or…well, I try not to judge ever, but nobody’s perfect. I’m not BRAGGING here, I am simply stating a fact. Whenever friends would complain about other “dregs” of society, I would always think of my friend Jen and the three sides to every story. You NEVER know what is going on in a person’s life because you have NEVER walked in that person’s shoes. Now it seemed I WAS walking in another person;s shoes. I didn’t love it…

My husband was at work and I was attempting to get food for the maniacs. Realtor-guy called and was manic on the phone, asking me to quickly send $5,000 so we could finalize the deal.

Here’s me: ” WHAT?! Five THOUSAND dollars? If I had FIVE THOUSAND dollars, do you REALLY think I would be living in a 600 square foot TOWNHOME across the street from a drug dealer in MonFREAKINtana?! I don’t THINK so!” Just a note about this–the townhome was NOT so bad–it was just SO SMALL and there were naked babies running around outside all the time…we were able to move to a larger, nicer home after about six months (where MY babies were the naked babies running around outside). It turns out that the landlord of the townhome was great and the landlord in the NICER home was a creep, but I digress…

The short sale fell through, mostly because our “realtor” was an idiot, though I’m sure the fact that we had to stop paying the mortgage didn’t help. The best part was the fact that we would get notices from the HOA demanding that we cut our lawn and fix our mailbox and do things that we did not have the money or time to either fly back to Virginia (about $2000) to fix it ourselves or to hire someone to do it for us–especially on a home we were regrettably losing. Irresponsible, maybe–but we were definitely going through some things. I only felt bad about all of this because of the dear friends we left in Fredericksburg who had to LOOK at our trashed home–the home that was once the subject of MUCH bragging…and think that it was bringing down THEIR property values (which would continue to drop–with or without our help, but who KNEW this would happen?!).

Well, THIS sounds like a big pity party or something and if there is ONE thing I CANNOT STAND (more than a braggart) it’s a victim. I played the “victim” once in real life in the late eighties and early nineties (some of you, if I didn’t lose you eighteen paragraphs ago, knew her and it was NOT fun for you, I’m CERTAIN!) and decided that I could not STAND to be that annoying for my ENTIRE life! So please do not think that in ANY part of this I wanted to be A. A BRAGGART or 2. A VICTIM. It is just one of my nonsensical rants to inform or entertain.

…and to perhaps challenge you to a WWF game…

This is to my children, whom I love and adore.

This is going to be short and to the point.

No messing around with fancy words, metaphors, similes or anything else I kind of know how to do.

Listen up and listen closely.

I…am the all and powerful MOM.

Got that so far?

I…make the rules.

Not all of them.

There IS an all and powerful DAD involved in this too.

You…follow the rules.

You are the Munchkins living in MY land.

Not the other way around.

If I tell you you can’t do something, it’s not ok to do it anyways.

Because you WILL get in trouble.

I promise.

And the all and powerful Mom…

She turns into the Wicked WitchMom of the (Mid)West.

Minus the melting in water thing.

And the WitchMom of the (Mid)West will turn you all into Flying Monkeys and lock you in cages (your rooms)

*insert Wicked Witch of the West laugh*

Love,
Mommy Dearest

I received a phone call yesterday from my son’s teacher. She was a little concerned because it was an hour past recess and yet my sons cheeks were still bright red and he was sweating profusely.

He overheats. A lot.

Not sure why.

Anyways, I told her I’d come in a take a look. My heart was telling me that he was fine. My brain was telling me that he was milking the situation because he wanted to leave school early. He’d been on a mission this week; he had been trying to talk me into picking him up early, on a daily basis.

I got to his school where he was waiting for me, coat and backpack ready.

One look at him confirmed my suspicion, the kid was milking the sweat for all it was worth.

Seeing as it was close to the end of the day anyways…and also, just based on how he was looking at me, I decided to take him home early. Yeah, he won.

As we were walking to the car, he stopped and looked up at me…

Him: Mommy?

Me: Hmmm?

Him: You’re not mad?

Me: No love, I’m not mad.

Him: You know how I don’t get to see you for like 2 or 10 hours while I’m at school?

Me: Yes honey.

Him: That’s why, whenever I see you, it makes me smile.

Me: You miss me during the day?

Him: Yes. I love you. You’re the best Mommy.

Me: That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.

He grabbed me hand, looked up at me with his big brown eye and his big blue eye and he smiled.

Of course, I squeezed him and kissed him so hard.

And then, we got into the car and I melted.