Call a Spade a Spade!

Over the years, I've picked up some heavy sarcasm. I've always been a serious, focused, goal orientated person, but the other side of me always wanted to have fun too. The sarcasm has become the product of my personality fighting with itself. In the past few years, the sarcasm has become more progressive by the influence of others (I don't know, possibly my husband). The more I have to deal with people outside of my family, the more I need a coping mechanism. Hence, we have sarcasm.

Now that you have some background, I can get to the story. This actually happened about a month ago, but I needed some time to figure out the approach.

So I was invited to join a book club through one of the other soccer moms on Child #1's team (who I've become close friends with over the past few years. She still likes me even with my flaws). Since I read like a crazy scientist that never sees the light of day, she thought I would be a perfect fit for this group. It was actually her first time joining the book club as well. I thought okay I should try this. I wanted to expand my boundaries, do something out of the box, improve myself as a person, blah, blah, blah. If it didn't workout, I could just not come again. No problem.

I enter the person's house that is hosting the book club, I'm the third one there. The hostess and another woman that I've met before (these two are best buds). They are gracious with introductions and offer drinks. Then my friend who invited me shows up. We chat and everyone falls into conversation. Then two more women show up. One looks at me like I might've grown a wart on my face and it was still growing right before her eyes. (Okay so I wasn't dressed exactly for a night out on the town, clad jeans, ponytail, no makeup, glasses, tennis shoes, no jewelry, but it was a fucking book club at a persons house. Come On! I thought I dressed the part perfectly as the book worm.) The other women I've met as well through another function I went to. Introductions are made around the circle. I think to myself, I can handle this (Besides my friend that invited me, there are only four other women at this book club. That makes six total people at this club. If my friend and I didn't show up, there would've only been four people).

The conversation continues. The one woman who looked at me like I was a space alien (did I mention she was weighted down with jewelry, every finger had something on it, multiple bracelets, earrings, necklaces) asked what I did for a living. Here is where the sarcasm rears its ugly head.

"Nothing." Then I proceed to stuff my mouth with brownies.

Silence, all eyes on me. They all look horrified at me. (I didn't mention that the four women that I wasn't friends with previously were dressed all to the nines. My friend was dressed casually, but not all jeweled up.)

Another one, laughs and says, "So you eat bon bons all day."

With my mouth full of brownie, I say, "Yep. Well actually it's cookies."

My friend tries to help me out and says, "That's not true, you do a whole bunch of stuff."

When I'm sinking on a ship, I like to be on it by myself so I stick to my story. My answer goes back to the days when I worked full time. People would always ask me what I did. They would always make a big deal about what I did so I started to down play what I did because it was just a job. Sometimes things appear to be more exciting than they really are. In everything we do, there is always a downside and an upside. So now, I just respond I do nothing otherwise I would have to go into a monologue of everything I do on a daily, weekly, monthly basis. It's boring can't we just talk about other things. Who cares what we all do for a living. Let's just talk about a book. It's way more exciting. All this is going through my head, but I keep it securely repressed from reaching my lips.

At this point, I thought we were waiting for more women to show up because we hadn't started discussing the book yet. I also have consumed two alcoholic beverages in a matter of one hour so I've become a little more social and excited than I normally am. The hostess does try to veer the group to discuss the book by asking a question about it. I'm pretty sure this is the point it all goes down hill for me. Suddenly the topic of conversation switches to someone's head stone. I become quiet and try to follow where this is going because I must've missed something. They continue to talk about a woman and viewing a head stone at a cemetery. I still can't figure it out so I ask whose head stone is it. It turns out that the headstone is for a baby ( I know it is a very sad subject, but we are at a book club. A little inappropriate.) who was stillborn a month prior to a woman whose not even at the book club. This conversation continues for a full complete hour. Since I've lost interest in this whole thing, I'm feeling this club is definitely not for me. I'm almost positive all my feelings were written on my face. I can't keep a poker face to save my life.

Finally the conversation is veered to other topics that I can join in on. Then the gossip club (oops, I meant book club) wraps up and they discuss what book is going to be the next book to read. I think to myself, why even bother you don't even discuss the book. I try to appear interested and exit as fast as I can. As I'm leaving, I'm wondering if I shouldn't just try it one more time. Maybe this was just an odd night. I want to stay positive.
 
The next evening, I get a call from the hostess of the book club. This was strange in itself, but I answered the phone and immediately I knew why she called. She was beating around the subject and was having a hard time saying what she wanted to say so I helped her out.

I laughed and said, "I won't be offended if you don't want me to come to the book club next month."

She thanked me and insisted it wasn't her decision and she really wanted me to be part of the group (we had a great conversation the night before), but others didn't think I was a good fit. Then she asked if I could still send her an invite to my www.shelfari.com page.

Whoa, back up here. You don't want me to show up to your stupid book club, but you still want to see what kind of books I read and recommend and what I have to say about them. WTF! Next time, you invite someone to your club, inform them that it is an exclusive gossip club and you are not allowed to invite anyone else unless you get the weighted down jewelry queen's approval. Good Luck!

My friend who invited me was more upset about this situation than I was, but what a great friend she is because she is now boycotting that book club and we are starting our own. Anyone can join even if you need to wear a wig and dress like a homeless person, you will still be welcome.

Have a nice day!

Did I say that out loud?

After a fun filled weekend of 3 soccer games and a whole soccer team sleepover on Saturday night, I'm not sure if I came out the other end okay. Did I mention a whole team of 10 screaming 7 years-old girls at my house?

My plan was to wear them out with a scavenger hunt/hike, hot chocolate, kick ball, pizza, bonfire with smore's, a movie (it was more like two movies because they wouldn't go to sleep) with popcorn. Unfortunately, I think I wore myself out. On the good side, it was a successful sleepover. No one got hurt, sick or wanted to go home.

When Sunday came around, we had Sunday school and another soccer game. This is the part where I should have stayed home. When I'm tired, it's kind of like being drunk. I lose my social filter. Even though I know, I shouldn't be saying certain things I feel the words tumble out of my mouth in slow motion and I can't take them back. By the end of the soccer game, I'm pretty sure I offended everyone who could hear my loud mouth. I am not making excuses. I accept all accountability with my social diarrhea. These are times when I wish I could be the calm, quiet mom. Unfortunately, I like who I am so there is no hope in changing my issues. Plus I've tried to be good, but it's like a shaken can of soda. When you hold all that pressure inside and finally crack the top a little, the soda still foams up and explodes everywhere.

By Monday, you would think I would've recovered. I'm not so sure. After taking the kids to school, hitting the road with my Aasics, I come back home to find I have missed calls and text messages. The right thing to do is return calls and answer text messages, which I do. Next I have to stretch, but I hear voices. Yes I said it. I hear voices and I can't figure out where they are coming from. (Just a little background, my husband and I think our house is sometimes haunted. That will be another story for later). I walk around the kitchen trying to find out where they are coming from. It only takes me a minute to hone in on the area where I hear them.

Enough suspense. Right?

 Well it turns out I left my I-pod on. I could hear the faint sound of music coming out of the earphones. Hope you enjoyed the laugh. Have a great day!

Jiggly and Stuff

Child #1 and Child #2 continue to tag team me with temper tantrums. I almost feel like their hormone levels are more out of whack than my thirty-five year old hormones.

Today it was Child #1's turn to throw a two year old temper tantrum. While in the shower enjoying the heat and relaxation, I hear feet kicking on the ground, moaning and whining outside the door. The first thought to come to mind, "great, now what is she crying about." Ignoring everything outside the door, I continue with my routine. Then I hear something about missing her blanket (I know I can hear all the critiques now, my nine year old still has a blanket. It used to be called Buba when she was little, but now that she is nine she just calls it blanket. There are reasons we haven't taken it away, but that's a whole other story).

So the next thought that comes to mind, "Are you kidding me, what is wrong with her? A blanket. She is having a fit over a blanket right now. She's going to school in thirty minutes." As these thoughts flow through my rational mind, I can feel the irritation and anger start to build. I never had a temper tantrum at nine, maybe two (my mother will be over joyed to tell the stories about my temper tantrums at two years old), but not nine years old. What the hell is wrong with her?

So I whip the door open and tell her to "Go look for it."

Her response is more moaning, kicking, crying and she yells at me, "I did look for it. I can't find it."

Of course, I say, "Get in your room for yelling at me."

Kicking and yelling more at me, she gets up and goes in her room. Then she says crying and yelling still, "Why am I being punished? I didn't do anything wrong."

At this point envision the cartoon character that is boiling mad and you watch the red color take over his neat outline of his body from his feet to his head. Then the steam comes out the ears. This is exactly how I am feeling. I whip the bathroom door open, stomp into the Child #1's room and tell her

"This behavior is unacceptable at nine years old. You are acting like a two year old or a spoiled brat. You choose. I will not tolerate this behavior that is why you are being punished. It is not all about you, Child#1."

With this great speech, all the tears and whining stop abruptly. Maybe I'm actually getting through to her.

Child #1 says, "When you yell at me, can you please put some clothes on?"

I bust out laughing, "If my naked body is going to torture you that bad, I will have to remember that for next time."

I walk back into the bathroom. I hear a laugh and she says,  "Ewww. Mom it's so gross. It's all jiggly and stuff."

Now I have a new threat to stop unacceptable behavior.

Have a great day!

Hot Tamale

I came home the other day with a small bag full of my parents garden goodies, a few tomatoes, a few green peppers, a few red peppers, a few hot chilli peppers. All the goodies were laid out on the counter full of bright and dark reds colors. I planned on making some fresh salsa.

After the girls came home from school, I noticed Child #2 couldn't keep her hands off the merchandise. She must've been attracted to the colors. While touching and feeling the different textures of each veggie, she kept asking what was what and if they were hot. I told her some of the peppers were hot. You could almost see what was going through her head when her eyes bulged out. The peppers were just tempting her to take a bite out of it.

The next day, she couldn't keep her hands off of one of the large red peppers, continuing with her questions about how hot it would be and what it tasted like.    

Finally I said, "Take a bite."

Eyeing me up suspiciously, she replied, "It's going to be hot."

"I will give you a dollar if you take a big bite out of it."

"Really?"

"Yep."

Hesitant at first, but Child #2 went in for the big bite. She chewed it and swallowed it.

"Mmm. This is good." And she took another bite.

I knew the red pepper wasn't hot, but I wanted her to stop bugging me about the peppers.

A few hours later, I was folding clothes and a bolt of lightening streaked down the hall into the bathroom. Child #2 was holding a half eaten red hot chilli pepper in her hand.

She says with her tongue hanging out fanning the heat out of her mouth. "This one is hot, mom."

I busted out laughing. She couldn't take the suspense of not trying all the peppers.

Welcome Back...Blisters

I don't know what I was thinking when I put on my new running shoes on and went running. Man, I have the blisters to show for it. I'm not sure what was more painful running the last two miles in the half marathon I ran earlier in the spring or these blisters on my heals. Normally I would've worn the shoes a few times walking around before I put them on to go running, but apparently my lack of judgement yesterday was enticing me to a week of pain.

I was blessed with the last two pairs of shoes I purchased that never gave me blisters. Unfortunately, when I went to purchase the same shoe that style didn't have my size anymore so I had to go with same shoe, but newer version. I hate that the shoe manufacturers always have to update their styles. When I find a good shoe I usually buy 2 to 3 of the same shoe at a time (I usually have to buy new running shoes every 3 to 4 months. I know that's a lot, but I put a lot of miles on my shoes. Have to keep the joints happy.) Well I went through those pairs so now I'm back to square one. Now off to the store to buy more band aids.