Growing Up Is Hard To Do

I thought that I was an adult. After all, I'm twenty-seven years old. I never really felt like I was grown-up, though. Lately, it seems to me that maybe I will never be grown-up. What does being grown-up mean anyways?
I thought it meant a few things...being responsible for my actions, taking charge of my life, doing the things that needed to be done. Learning all the lessons you needed to and then, then you were grown-up.
I have learned many a lesson recently. I've learned that I am selfish. I've learned that love is a give-and-take kind of thing. I had the impression in my mind that if someone does something for me, I am not obligated to return the favor. I don't like being obligated. However, it has occurred to me that maybe 'obligation' is not the correct word. Maybe the word is...courtesy? I've learned that other people's feelings do matter to me. (Well, some people's feelings. I'll work on that.) I've learned that there is sometimes more than one "right thing" to do. Which one do I choose? The one that's right in the eyes of the law? The one that's right morally? The one that's right in my heart? So much pressure.
I've learned that the choices I make are sometimes best left alone, rather than fucking with them and choosing something else. Previously, I held my motto out to be happy with life, and if you wanted something different, change it! Choose something else! You only live once, so why be unhappy!
I have found that maybe, just maybe, I've made my bed and I might as well lay in it. That maybe what's better in the long run does not necessarily make me happy now. If I want instant gratification, I'll go shopping. If I want to have a healthy happy future...well, that's different. I made a few choices and I will stick with them. If I cry at night over them, that's okay. Because my future will be better. Time will heal my heart.
I have learned that it's best to go with my first instinct. So that's my story...and I'm sticking to it.

My New Title

I am now known at my daughter's school as...(drum roll please)...
"The Mom of the Girl Who Barfs On the Tire Swing".
Little J loves the tire swing. She plays on it every day. She talks about it many times a day. She loves it soooooo much, that...well, I'm sure you get it.

Confession Time

Hi. My name is BrokeMom. And I am here today to tell you that I am fat.
Yes.
I'm sure that some of you already know that, so let me tell you the why about it.
I can blame it on fast food. But really, the blame is mine, because I am the one who put the food into my mouth.
I am working more than I have in the past. (Forty hours a week, as opposed to twenty-six hours a week.) I am also making more money than I have in the past. Ever. (You don't get to know how much, but I'll tell you this; my take-home pay is double what I used to bring home.) Combine more spending money with less time and you have Convenience Meals! These convenient convenience meals are from fast-food places usually, sometimes actually sit-down establishments. Three or four times a week.
My waistline is getting bigger...and bigger...and bigger! So I get to diet again. And I have no one to blame but myself. So if I'm a little cranky in the near future, it's because I'm going through carbohydrate withdrawals. And I'll be sore from walking up treadmill mountains. After I've eaten enough salad that my nose starts twitching and I turn green, I'll post a picture.

Medical Degree from a Box of Cracker Jacks

I went to the doctor the other day. I had these little itchy bumps on my side. (Four of them, to be exact.) You could barely see them. Tiny as they were, these little bumps itched like a muthafucka'. No other way to say it. Itched and itched painfully. Do you see how I have emphasized that? Times that by ten thousand and you have my painful itching bumps that you cannot see. Imagine wanting to stab a fork (or some other sharp object) into your skin, just to stop the itchy pain. Some of you have seen me in awkward situations before...I'll just say, this was bad.
Like I was saying, I went to the doctor. I wanted the pain and the itching to stop. I really didn't care what it was. My mom thought it was scabies. My mother perpetually thinks everyone has scabies though, so no matter. I had already had a staph infection on my hip that ate a hole the size of a quarter in my flesh, so I knew what that was. (Half the town has had staph. Maybe more.)
On with the story! I was at the doctor's office. I had to point out the bumps to him. He sat back on his little stool and looked at me. Then he started in with this story about some woman he sees who thought she had some disease and then she had something else, he's blathering on about absolutely nothing that I can tell, and then he switches gears and says, "I don't know what it is."
Thank you for your esteemed medical opinion. I told him, "I don't care what it is. Make it stop. Please, for the love of all that is holymakeitstop!!!!" My voice is pretty shrieky at the end of this sentence. You can picture it...I'm scratching like freakin' monkey at the zoo, but the itching hurts so I'm kind of bent over and holding my side. There might have been some tears.
He prescribes me some pills called Vistaril. First they make me feel doped up. Then they make me pass out. I itch in my sleep. He gave me some cream for scabies. I had to rub it all over me and then sleep with it on. It made the bumps burn. I was on fire. And it did not work.
I know you're asking now. "What did you do, Brokemom?"
I took pills all weekend. And by today, the painful itching was tolerable. Still hurts. Still itchy.

Saturday Night

On Saturday night, we went Drunk Bowling. Yes, that's right. It's not just called 'bowling'. I don't just bowl. I drunk bowl. That basically consists of getting together with some friends at the bowling alley and ingesting pitchers of beer, intermersed with heaving a bowling ball down a lane as best you can while partaking in more pitchers of beer. The bowling alley has some thing where they turn off the main lights and colored light spin around and loud music plays*. It adds to the atmosphere, I guess. Then at the end of the night, whoever is most sober drives us all home. Small town fun, I tell you what.

(*Sam, didn't hear my cell! You missed a good time!!)

My Fascination

I am not ashamed to talk about poop. I like how some people are shocked that I would even bring up the subject. C'mon, it's something we all do. So when I found this, I was fascinated.

Today Is The First Day Of The Rest Of Your Life

Today is the first day of school. Liitle J is in kindergarten and Big J is in fourth grade.
New school to all of us. The doors are all open to welcome the children, however, no room numbers are visable! I was able to find Big J's class without too much trouble, but it took a few stops and questions to find the kindergarten classroom. (I was also a little snotty to the people I asked. I don't think they heard the desperation in my voice, just the bitch.)
Anyhow, Little J pulls on my hand and says, "I want to whisper something in your ear."
She whispered, "Mommy, I'm a little bit scared."
And Mommy had to reassure her (without crying) that everybody was going to be a little bit scared today. When we found her class, she said it was too small.
We met her teacher (I don't know her name, but I like the way she accessorizes) and I gave her a hug (Little J, not the teacher), and off I went. Bitching the whole way back to the truck about not being able to find any freakin' room numbers! (In my head, of course.)
I shed a few tears. I forgot to put the chocolate-covered raisins in Little J's backpack like she requested, so I cried over that as well. But at the end of the day, I will pick them up from school and smother them with kisses...and chocolate-covered raisins.

I've Got IT

Oh yeah, fast fast fast! Ve-ry niiiiiice.

UNOIMBIZEEWEN...

the new Ani CD came out on the 18th, and I didn't buy it until the 20th!! I just happened to come across it. Some of her latest is a little different, kinda' along the same lines as Knuckledown...but I like it. Of course.

Let Me Share

My posts have been rather blah lately. This is because I no longer have the internet at home. And that is because I am cheap. Uh, fiscally conservative, I mean. I don't like to post interesting things from my work computer. Big Brother, you know.
Anyhow, so I did what every other FC person would do...I procrastinated. I whined. And hemmed and hawed about dial-up and dsl and modems and such. Then I called my phone company and had all of my extra services, such as call waiting, taken off of my phone. (I'm never home to use it, why pay for it?)
And then I ordered DSL for a wonderfully low rate.
And then I received notice that I get no more child support checks because ExDingbat lost his job. I knew it was coming, oh yes. But it still hurts on so many levels. (Ok, so it bugs me that he doesn't care to send support to his children without it being garnished, but it hurts financially the most.)
But see, I figured it out like this: I usually pay my bills online. Without the internet, I am spending $2 a month in stamps, some other amount in envelopes(who wants to calculate that?), and lots of precious time finding said stamps, envelopes, a pen to write with, and a child to run down to the mailbox for me. This also means that my friends never hear from me again, because I don't do phone calls and I write letters about dumb stuff.
So to pay $12.99 a month for the internet (not Dial-Up, ooh, new for me) is completely worth it.
Even without child support checks...well, I'll worry about that when next month's bills are due. And if I can afford to pay them, I'll do it online.

Slippery Little Suckers

I find my thoughts slipping to Her.
Such a painless transition from one seemingly unrelated thing to a memory brimming with veiled deceit and anguish.
How long does it take for a heart to stop breaking?

Quirky Me and My Control Issues

I have a grocery-bagging quirk. And I have decided to share it with the world, in hopes that I am one of many.
I have a very precise method to bagging my groceries. It irritates me when I am with someone else (boyfriend, other friend) and they bag my groceries for me. Helpful, yes. I appreciate the help. But I am still annoyed.
All of the produce needs to be in a separate bag. As does the bread. Crackers are not a bread item, all boxed goods go into a separate bag. The meat goes into a bag with only meat.
Are we seeing a pattern here?
Frozen items in a bag. Dairy products in another. (Ice cream is dairy, not frozen.)
Each item fits into a category, (I get to specify the category), and each category gets its own bag. Easy, yes?
If I am in a hurry, I will still bag according to my method. If I am with someone who is in a hurry, that person throws whatever into any bag and I am annoyed and irritated and thinking about all those mixed-up groceries until we can unpack them.
It's a system that makes me feel better. But it makes me wonder...is this one of those things that I have to control because I can, or do I just like organized groceries?

My Favorite Time

It's school clothes shopping time again!! Hooray! And do you want to know what makes it even better?
Having the money to buy things for my children. Hooray again!
It's that child support, I tell you. I love it. I get to blow this money on clothes for my kids without a second thought, because that's what it is there for. And when I'm done with that? I can spend my extra paycheck money on them. Why? Because I have it and I can.
What a wonderful system.

Good News Today

Congratulations to my friend, Sam. She had the man, she had the ring, and now she's got the Question.
I wish you and B all the best, Samantha. You are both great people, obviously in love, and I hope you both make many great memories together. Like camping. :) Good luck with the new place!!!

It Happened. Still Happening.

My oldest daughter will be ten years old in December. Last night, she confided in me something unusual that was happening to her.
"Mom, I have hair." she said.
"No kidding" I said.
"No, Mom. I have hair down there." she replied.
I was on my way out the door, but I stopped pretty quickly. Huh? What?! Hair? Down there?!
She wasn't upset or shocked, after all, we've had plenty of talks about "what will happen when you hit puberty".
Sure freakin' shocked me though. It's one of those things that I knew would happen. But did I prepare for it? Brace myself for it? Remind myself that one day this tall, glowing, talented little girl would be a big girl?
No, I did not.
My youngest starts kindergarten this month. My babies are growing up, and I am not prepared. Which leads me to wonder...will I ever be?

Wanna Piece of Me?

Yesterday after work, I picked my daughters up from childcare. My youngest, who is five, was very tired and cranky. But then she started this, which cracked me up. A car would pass us going the opposite direction on the road. My youngest would say in this little 'tough girl' voice, "You wanna' piece of me?".
Another car. "You wanna' piece of me?"
"You wanna piece of me?"
"You wanna' piece of me?"
Finally after a really long line of cars passed, she was almost breathless. She broke up the monotony by saying ,"Gimme a break, people!"
I thought it was over. Cute, but annoying. And then... "You wanna' piece of me?"