Mamagirl… says it all…

Just a Mama's musings…

The only reason that I’m not afraid to fly… May 24, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — mamagirlsaysitall @ 2:29 am

MamaGirl says…

So, there’s this new show on Disney and there’s this song and it says “You might be crazy, but have I told you lately, that I love you. You’re the only reason that I’m not afraid to fly.” There are two things in this world that will make me stand up and face my fears, their names are A-man and Mags.

I’m a big, old chicken shit. That’s what I am. I’m afraid of everything. It can all hurt you, you know. Everything. Everything can and will hurt you, at some point. But the two little humans that I brought into this world can change it for me. If they are watching, I can do anything. I can have a good attitude, because they need to have a good attitude. I can face heights that would normally buckle my knees and have me laying on the ground, so that I don’t fall off of the world, because they need to face those heights. Truth be told, I am afraid of almost everything. People speeding down the Interstate (That car could kill us!), heights (I’ll fall off the world!), strangers (He could be a mugger!), social situations (They might not like me!), but when it comes to my kids, I’m able to put it all aside. You see, one of the things that I am most afraid of, is projecting my fears on to them. A-man already has a fear of heights because of me freaking out on the side of a cliff. I don’t want any more of my baggage to become their baggage.

So, whatever it is. Whatever it is that needs facing, I’m going to face it. I’m going to do it. I’m going to conquer it, kick its ass and show it who’s boss! … As long as my kids are watching…. They are the only thing that has ever allowed me the ability to control my fears. I cannot allow myself to worry about everything that I see on the news. They don’t need that worry. I cannot allow myself to be afraid of every stranger that we meet. They don’t need to fear the world. I cannot allow myself to physically shut down because we are at the pinnacle of the mountain. My kids need to enjoy the view. Even though I am white-knuckled, breathing deeply and consciously “talking myself down,” I will still plaster a smile onto my face and at least pretend to be excited about what we’re doing. I mean, after all, I’m not in the business of raising wusses…. like me.

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I don’t run unless something is chasing me. May 18, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — mamagirlsaysitall @ 2:14 am

MamaGirl says…

I don’t run unless something is chasing me. Ever. I don’t go to the gym. I don’t like to sweat. I work with lots of people who say that they really enjoy working out. I do not enjoy working out. In fact, I don’t believe that they really enjoy it either. I think that’s just what they tell themselves so that they can drag their butts back to the gym day after day. Some of them “need” to work out. Some of them just think they “need” to work out. Either way, I just can’t fathom why they keep doing it over and over again. I mean, one workout isn’t enough? Geez. It looks like pretty hard work. I mean, they are sweating. Did I mention that I don’t like to sweat?

Okay, so yes, I am a skinny girl. I’ve always been a skinny girl. Even after two babies and while freight-training my way to my mid-thirties (Did I really just say mid-thirties? But I’m only twenty-one! Right?) I am still a skinny girl. I gained 60 pounds with the first baby and 70 with the second and I’m still a skinny girl. Some people do not understand the plight of the skinny girl. Especially people who are not skinny. Not-skinny people tend to think that life is a bed of red freaking roses for skinny folks. You know, like because I’m thin, my bank account isn’t causing me the same sort of anxiety that their’s is causing them. Or that, you know, my family members don’t get sick and die, just like their’s do. Or whatever type of problems they have in life, apparently it is widely believed that skinny people do not have problems. Come on, now.  Do you know how many times I’ve heard, “I hate you ’cause you’re so skinny.” This is always said with a laugh that is supposed to convince me that the person doesn’t really hate me. Unfortunately, since on some level these people really do hate me, they aren’t generally very good at pulling off that statement in a believable fashion. Maybe if they didn’t have that sneer on their face…

Once, in high school, I reached my breaking point on the skinny issue. I had just heard it too many times. I was embarrassed enough about being nothing but knees, hip-bones and elbows. I was gangly and Damnit! I didn’t need anyone else pointing it out to me. So when I heard that old trusty one liner “I hate you ’cause you’re so skinny,” before I could even think about it, I spit back (full of venom) “I hate you because you’re so FAT!” Thank all that is Holy that as soon as those words escaped my lips, the teacher walked into the room and I didn’t get my skinny little ass beat. And although I can no longer remember who I said that to, I’m fairly certain that she never spoke to me again. Fair enough, I wouldn’t have spoken to me again either.

So, it’s established. I’m skinny. However, I’m still going through those same mid-thirties (shut up) body changes that everyone else is dealing with. Before I had children, I was a B-cup. Hey! That’s big for a skinny girl! But my body didn’t react to pregnancy like most women’s, two kids later, calling me an A-cup is laughable. There’s some bra company out there that makes “half-sizes” and they call them something like “barely B” for those girls that are a little smaller than a B, but really don’t want to have to be an A. Yeah… those don’t fit me. In fact, I quit wearing bras years ago. A shelf tank-top is more than enough to keep me covered. Chew on that for a minute, fat girls. How would you like to be a size 6, but with no boobs!! Being boob-less forces you into being very aware of your accessory choices. If I wear a solid colored shirt, I really need a long necklace to distract from the flat expanse that is my chest. The only time I’ve ever had cleavage in my life, I was either pregnant or nursing. And frankly, those big old boobs were so ungainly and purely functional, that showing them off was the last thing on my mind.

Another “thing” that’s happening is the southerly migration of my butt. I don’t know what it thinks it’s going to find down around my feet, but it certainly is trying to get there fast. The other day, I was getting dressed and Mags came up and patted me on the butt, which I thought was very sweet until she said “Mommy, your butt is mushy.” Like I really need a three-year old to tell me that my butt is mushy. I sit on the damn thing everyday, I know how mushy it is! But in all of her three-year old innocence, she felt the need to point it out to me. So what the hell do I do now? I’m a skinny girl with no boobs and a mushy butt. I should really be winning over some hearts right now. Don’t I sound like the girl of your dreams? Well no. I know I don’t. And I’d tell you that you were delusional if you said that I did.

So, I’m feeling some body issues right now. No, they aren’t as bad as what a lot of women have to deal with, with their bodies. But they are MY issues to deal with, just the same. Am I going to start working out? HAHAHAHAHA…. excuse me while I get over this fit of laughter. No. I’m not going to start working out. Did I mention that I don’t like to sweat? But maybe I’ll think about starting some sun salutations in the mornings. Maybe a few extra lunges while working in the garden. I might even try to go for more walks. But working out? Oh, hell no. I’m sorry, that just ain’t happening. I’d rather be fat and mushy butt-ed than work out. Working out involves lifting weights, walking miles upon miles to nowhere and of course, the ever dreaded sweat.

And besides, I don’t run unless something’s chasing me.

 

Are you more stubborn than a 3 yr. old? May 13, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — mamagirlsaysitall @ 1:40 pm

MamaGirl says…

My three-year old, who is currently channeling her alter-ego – Princess BitchyBritches, is laying on the couch screaming and crying because I won’t get her a banana. Before you get your panties all in a wad about me starving a three-year old and being a cruel mom, let me just say that the banana in question is on the coffee table, right in front of her. However, she can’t reach it from her reclined position without actually moving and therefore wants me to get up from my chair (where I am clearly writing important crap), walk over there and hand her the banana that is just out of the reach of her finger-tips. Am I going to get up and get her the banana. Hell no. Is this going to turn into a war of wills between my stubborn three-year old and her “Girl, you ain’t no more stubborn than I am and I got thirty years on you” Mama. All signs point that way.

This is my morning. Welcome to it. We do this almost every morning, in one fashion or another. This morning it’s “I can’t reach my banana.” Yesterday, it was “But I don’t want the food that I asked for!” It’s always something. She’s too much like me… lazy, stubborn and fiercely argumentative. I’m so proud.

Oh, now she’s moved on to something else. She just called me upstairs to help her find some shorts. I let her dress herself for the most part. As long as what she’s wearing is weather-appropriate, I could care less if it matches. It’s just not worth fighting over. Who cares if she wants to wear her Abby Cadabby costume to the grocery store? Do we give a flip what the people at the grocery store think? Nope. Sure don’t. And besides, if you can’t look at a child dressed in green leggings, bright pink shorts and three different shirts, none of which match the shorts OR leggings and figure out that she dressed herself, then you’re a freaking idiot. I don’t have time for freaking idiots. Or what they think. By the way, everyone is a freaking idiot (at least, that’s how I automatically categorize anyone looking at us funny.)

So, the storm has now passed. The clouds are parting. The wind is dying down. She’s eating the banana. She’s watching Dora (thankyou baby Jebus for Dora). She’s content…. for a second. It’s only a matter of minutes until the next random meltdown over the next random, ridiculous thing. I’m going to enjoy it until the sky darkens again and the screaming rain starts falling. Oh, but why can’t I be a three-year old? No one ever takes my crazy, screaming rants as just another part of the day and accepts that it’s just part of who I am and that it’ll be okay again in just a minute. Okay, maybe that’s an unfair statement. If you asked my husband and coworkers, they’d probably tell you that I’m delusional and that that’s exactly what they have to put up with. But we’re not asking those bitches, now are we?

Disclaimer: I talk smack. I talk smack about people that I love because I know they can take it. I don’t really call all of my coworkers bitches (just some of them). And besides, most of them are very much like me in that they recognize their inner bitch, embrace her and let her fly whenever necessary.

 

The neighbors are moving… yay?

Filed under: Uncategorized — mamagirlsaysitall @ 4:13 am

MamaGirl says…

Tonight, I heard that the neighbors are moving out. I have mixed feelings on this subject. Let me start by saying that for a year and a half, I’ve hated the neighbors. Note: I use the term “hate” rather loosely in this instance, it’s really more like they gave me something to bitch about. Let’s back up for a minute. My neighbors are 3 early-twenties, fresh out of college girls. And of course, their boyfriends, none of which actually live there.  Two of them have been constant, the third roommate seems to change every three months or so. Why do I bitch about them? Let’s count the ways (reasons).

  • They like to party, late at night, outside.
  • They have way more vehicles than parking spaces and therefore create what is known as “the gauntlet” on our street. (The gauntlet is what I call it when there are so many cars parked on both sides of the street that I’m afraid I’m going to lose the one side-mirror that I still have on my car.)
  • They still haven’t put any kind of covering over their living room window. (This has caused us to see at least two of them naked. Not at the same time, pervs.)
  • They seem completely unaware that our houses are 15 feet apart and since neither of us have air conditioning, the windows of both houses are open and sound travels.
  • One of them has “a possessive on-again-off-again boyfriend” who I’ve caught creeping through the bushes twice. (The first time, he was just knocking on her window but the second time he was definitely spying or something. Not cool… But don’t worry, I scared the shit out of him and made him go knock on the door!)

So, okay except for the creepy boyfriend thing, it’s mostly just regular old annoying neighbor stuff. The same kind of things that you have to put up with in any city, right? Right. That’s why I don’t really hate them. But like I said, they give me something to bitch about. (You know, cause I guess the news, work, housework, the bank, my car, bills, the cable company, general worldly stupidity and Sarah Palin don’t give me enough.) So… I really don’t want them to move out. Because to be honest, they aren’t the worst neighbors we’ve ever had. We’ve been here something like seven years now (maybe eight) and for some reason, that house just attracts crazy.

Several years ago, we got some squatters over there. Is that a PC term, squatters? I don’t even know if it’s spelled right. Is that a word? Anyway… we got some squatters. The turnover rate over there was like restaurant turnover. There were new people in and out of there all of the time. Some were really cool people and are still our friends today, others… well not so much. So, the house had flipped through several different sets of people in about a year and the people who had the original lease (remember, we knew some of them) didn’t even live there anymore. Was that smart on their part? No. Is this a story about the moral of that story? No. I digress… point: No one living there was on the lease. Everyone moved out except for this one couple who said they would take on the whole rent themselves. Everything seemed okay for about a month or so, and then the police starting showing up, a lot. I am not a big fan of opening my front door and seeing a squad car parked in front of my house. It’s just not something I enjoy. Even though they were here to see the neighbors, where did they park? In front of my house, of course. Was I doing something wrong? Probably not. Did it still look like they were at my house. Most likely. Have I mentioned the nosy, old ladies who live across the street? We’ll get to them someday. Trust me, they need their own stories!

And not only did the cops show up, they showed up over and over and over. The cops would park in front my house, and once in my driveway, and go talk to the people about either paying the rent or moving on. But I never saw anyone go to jail. Apparently, it is very, very difficult to evict someone in the city of Asheville. It is also very difficult to turn off the water, that is in your name, at a house where you no longer live, for the purpose of causing the squatters to move out. I feel some kind of human rights rant deep down in there somewhere, but I just don’t feel like it tonight. I’m bitching about the neighbors. Oh yeah! Back to the neighbors. Except that I’m not really bitching about the neighbors. Because now I kind of don’t want them to leave. Now I’m worried about what the hell we might get over there on the next go round. What kind of degenerate, axe-wielding,  circus freaks of HORROR WILL MOVE INTO MY NEIGHBORHOOD!!! Oh yeah… wait a minute… this is Freak Flag Flying Asheville… that’s not a degenerate circus freak, that’s just a hippie/granola girl/river-rat/trust-a-farian/uppity/dready kid. I apologize for the unnecessary freak-out.

So… the moral of the story is that everyone’s neighbors suck, especially mine (but not really). Shut up and quit bitching about it.  It could be a hell of a lot worse. The squatters could be at YOUR house! ACK!!

PS – I have rather a lot of hippie/granola girl/river-rat/trust-a-farian/uppity/dready kid friends and I love them all dearly and hope none of them are offended by that comment. You guys love me too, remember? =)

 

A quick run down on the Family hierarchy.

Filed under: Uncategorized — mamagirlsaysitall @ 4:12 am

I’ve decided not to use real names in my blog. We like our privacy you see. So in order for you to know who I’m talking about, here’s the Family Hierarchy, as you need to know it. If someone else joins the party, I’ll put their name on the roster.

  • MamaGirl – that’s me (may sometimes be known as the Princess of Quite Alot)
  • Daddy – my Hubby (may sometimes be known as Mr. Cool – please note that this generally indicates sarcasm)

We often refer to the kids by their Wild Indian names:

  • A-man – my 9 year old son (Boy with Attitude)
  • Mags – my 3 year old daughter (Little Screams Alot)

Other major players:

  • Nana – my mother (may be referred to the Queen of Everything)
  • BeeBop – my dad (we just call him BeeBop)

Now you know. And knowing is half the battle (did I mention I’m a dork?)

 

I guess we’ll see how it goes… May 12, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — mamagirlsaysitall @ 4:54 pm

MamaGirl says…

My mother thinks I should write a blog. She thinks that my posts on FaceBook are hilarious. I think my life is pretty damn hilarious too, so after much debate (mostly, within myself) I’ve decided to give it a go and see what happens. I am a 32-year-old mother of two, a part-time Salon Coordinator, a beginning gardener and a general observer of the world. I don’t know much about any one subject, but do tend to have an opinion on just about anything that I’m presented with.  I don’t subscribe to any particular religion, political party or  child-rearing technique. I tend to just “go with the flow” and see how it all turns out. I make choices based on what is best for my children and my family. I’m not a hippie, an organic-freak, a home-schooler… not that there’s anything wrong with that, it’s just not me. Frankly, right now, my only agenda is raising my kids day by day, moment by moment. I give my kids hot dogs, let them play video games & watch TV, they have toy guns and swords (No. They don’t look real) and probably a ton of other things that someone, somewhere isn’t going to agree with. That’s fine. Skip on to the next blog.

What you may like is that as with everything I do, I am honest to a fault and nothing if not real. I don’t sugar-coat very many things. A friend recently told me, “I sure wish I could have you call up the cable company and tell them off for me.” I’m that girl. I try to tell it like it is and make it a conscious point in my life to not take crap from other people. I have been described as a strong, confident woman and in some ways, I suppose I am. However, I often find myself unsure on a lot of things. I am regularly surprised by the fact that I am 32 years old. In my head, I’m still sixteen (okay, maybe twenty-one). The two children hanging off of me remind me that I am, in fact, an adult. So most of the time, I am attempting to walk a very fine line between the kid I am in my head and the adult that I am forced to be by the natural aging process. At times, the tight-rope gets blurry and I am somewhat prone to falling off, on either side depending on the situation.

So… I guess that’s me. Or at least as much of me as you’re going to get right now.  =)

 

 
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