Shizzle my nizzle

For some unknown reason I have been using this phrase lately. I also tend to say "it's all good in the hood". I have absolutely no freakin' clue why I am channeling Snoop Dogg.

I have been stressed lately - for at least the past two weeks or so, maybe longer. I'm struggling with this because, quite honestly, I'm not one to stress. I generally look at things quite simply - either I can control it, or I can't. If I can control it then I do. If not, oh well. The problem is I'm not sure what I'm stressed about. I just feel this overwhelming sense of, well, being overwhelmed. I realize this is making no sense. Trust me - if it made sense I could deal with it. I think that what it comes down to is I'm trying to figure out what I want to do still and who I want to be. I'm happy I'm here with the boys. The time I'm spending with them is important. However one of my parenting "rules" is that I want to live my life in a way that demonstrates what is important. I don't want to tell them they can do anything, I want to live my life in a way that helps them see that anything is possible. I believe that firmly, and the reason I do is because I've watched my own parents live their lives like that.

Compounding the problem is that I'm actually really busy with tax work, busier than I've been since the spring. I'm just not so sure that's what I really want to do either. So my time is spent being mom and cramming in the work when I can, with no time to step back and analyze whether or not this is the direction I want to go in.

Yesterday I got an email from a former co-worker. They have now hired a third person to fill my old job. Don't misread that - it's not that they've had two others come and go since I left, they literally have three bodies doing the same work I used to do. Shizzle doggie drizzle.

In other news, Clint thinks he is Spiderman. He now uses this as an excuse for his behavior. It's why he was climbing the bookcase the other night. It's why he can't eat the rest of his dinner. Today I was trying to get him to put his jacket on and he told me "spiderman doesn't get cold". I refrained from telling him that "spiderman's mom could give a rat's ass - now get your f-in jacket on". See, I am a good parent. I just think the stuff, but don't say it.

Mind you this is the same kid who was asked (while wearing his spidey costume at a halloween party) if he could climb the walls. He looked at the woman as if she was an idiot and said "it's just a costume".

Turkey Day in Review for BKDH

BKD-H,
Four siblings are never as good as five. Here are some pictures from today. Since you missed it, this year I was thankful for Clint's third day of underwear without an accident...Becky the dictator sat at the kids table and apparently Grandpa is now sleeping with a pick axe next to him in case anyone ever breaks in. Tony is aware that if anyone comes into the ER with a pick axe injury he's to call mom so she can contact a lawyer...

Love and Miss You!!!

2007 Mother of the Year is still possible...

Following my recent plea for new music, a friend emailed me saying that she’s not sure what to send me – it seems like she never hears any new music because, being the mother of two small children, she is always listening to toddler music.

When people enter the insane realm known as parenthood, they try to convince themselves that they are going to have a certain amount of control in this new endeavor. So before their tiny bundles of joy even arrive, they make rules to help determine what type of parents they are going to be. “I won’t spank my kids”…"My kids will never eat McDonalds”…"I will let Bobby play with dolls if he wants to” etc, etc. Steph’s number one parenting rule: I will not listen to toddler music. Hey, I did the research, and realize that all of the studies say that children should be exposed to music, that it helps their little brains develop and understand math and science better. However, not a single survey specifically stated that “Mary Had A Little Lamb” would make juniors brain any more mathematically inclined than, say, “Sweet Home Alabama”. Plus there was my already questionable sanity to consider. Anyways, that was my parenting rule. I’ve stuck to it too. But, as with anything else in life, you need to be prepared to handle the consequences of your decisions. So I will share with you a story that pretty much killed any nomination I was going to get for 2006 Mother of the Year.

Back in May, we went to the library. For those without children, the library is essentially a gathering place for stressed out mothers that need an indoor arena outside of their home to exercise the children. It’s basically a romper room with bookcases for furniture. Parents go there not to read to their kids (although you do end up checking some books out for appearances sake), they go there to get a break from the kids tearing up their own homes. We were at said sanctuary back in May, and a little boy that had been playing train with Jake says to him “Hey, I can sing a song for you!” So he starts in with “Twinkle, twinkle, little star…” Then he asks “can you sing a song?” Jake looks at him and says “Oh my god, Becky. Look at her butt – it is so BIG!”

Needless to say the "Monster Booty" compilation CD was banned from the minivan shortly thereafter...

It's So Hard to Be Me...

Actually, it's really not. Made you look though.

I might be deleting this tomorrow as I'm having my third date of the night with Mr. Miller Lite. A young man (now currently bald despite the fact he's only 34) once called me the "two-can commando" back in 1990...under his tutelage I became more of a five shot everclear gal by the time we graduated, but motherhood has sent me back to two-can (or bottle, as I have substantially more fund available for beer now) commando status. Translation - I am technically drunk.

Drunk, but not drunk enough that I can't type. Or cut some checks and print reports. Which is what I'm doing now. See, when you are a (technically) self-employed mother who hangs with her kiddies but also gets paid to do stuff, you fit it in where you can. While they're watching the movie Cars for the 85th time, or at 11 pm on a Sunday night. After a day of football. Have I mentioned my love of football? I love it. This year I've taken on commissioner duties for a pool I'm in (and if you're married to a Fed and reading this tell him it's totally for charity - would I be involved in illegal interstate gambling? Is my nickname not law-abiding Stephie?) which adds another task to my already fairly full life. Tony joined the pool this year for the first time, which is cool as it leads people to believe my husband is a reformed redneck. Don't kid yourselves, today we were flipping between Nascar and the Saints/Steelers game. I remember a few years ago when we had to have two tv's set up in our living room every Sunday - one for Steph (football) and one for Tony (Nascar). Fortunately I managed to convince him that there was no need to LISTEN to a race...but as usual, I digress. I love football. Angry that my beloved Saints lost, but happy for the Packers today. Oh, and I love football in High Def most of all. If you don't have it - GET IT. 'Nuff said.

Okay, back to why it's so hard to be me. Again, it's not. My husband kicks ass (remember, I'm drunk and therefore not uptight about his inability to fold laundry) and comes home telling me cool stories about how many bullet holes were in some dudes leg yesterday morning, my children kick ass (again, drunk enough to forget the fact they spent a lot of today beating each other up), and overall my life kicks ass (don't even need the booze for that). I got to see the Maneater this weekend and catch up, and I'll get to see her again soon since she's a teacher and therefore has every holiday known to man off. Also got to do a great family field trip to the Mystic Aquarium in CT on Thursday since the Massachusetts school system turned Veterans Day into a four day weekend...wait - another tangent. Dammit, I've got to keep focused.

Oh yeah, my problem. I need some new music. I borrowed my brother's CD collection recently and got some good stuff (was also a bit frightened by his rather extensive Korn collection) including Zeppelin and Metallica. I also got a good laugh at the old "giveittowayna" song I saw but didn't copy. I feel myself slipping back into tangent land, so I'll just say it - if you love me, send me some a CD with some music. I really do need some new tunes. And you all know you love me. Okay, gotta go finish printing before I pass out...

International Drunk Dialing

My lovely sister and her husband have been touring Paris the past few days and are heading to Rome tomorrow (and I am insanely jealous. I've been to Paris but not Rome). She worked approximately 6 months during the past two year period, so she felt she deserved a vacation. I was over at my parents house this weekend, and my mom tells me to go listen to her answering machine messages. Why? I ask. "Just go listen!" My mom gets irritated with me easily. Can't imagine why.

Beep - Hey Mom, it's BKD, we've arrived, we're at a hotel with a great view of the Eiffel Tower (blah blah blah - that message is too boring type in)

Beep - Bonjour. Yo Mom....Are you there? Mooooooooommmmmmmm?????? Well, it's us. We're sitting on a balcony, drinking Champagne. Are you there? Why aren't you ever there? It's expensive to call internationally, ya know. Oh Mom? Mom? Where are youuuuuuuuuuuuu? Bonjour from Paris. We're having a really, really, really good time. The champagne is good. Bonjour. I mean Adios. Or Au Revoir. Whatever. Bye.

Tonight I was talking to my mom. Well, she says, I finally talked to Kelly tonight. And? I ask. My mother sighs. She was drunk again - wine this time though.