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Sometimes it’s so difficult.
Sometimes I want to pull my hair out. Run away until I can’t hear any of the complaining, moaning, begging, fighting, jabbing, painful, hurtful, negative shit.
It comes from all directions, really. From everyone.
If you’re reading this, it’s probably not you. Or, maybe it is.
Mostly it pains me to feel so angry, empty.
Sometimes a good, ugly cry makes it better. Most the time it just gives me a headache.
Don’t worry about me. I’m fine, really. Things come and go. Right now, they’re coming. And like I said, coming from all directions.
Sometimes (always) it’s hard being the only girl in the house. Sometimes it’s hard not knowing where I fit in, who I fit in with, where I should be.
Here, there, anywhere but here and there.
It’s all so confusing.
It’s times like these I want to hide. Melt into the darkest corner. Crawl into a box. Disappear under the bed.
But really I’d rather go dance around in an empty field somewhere near a mountain or ocean. Alone. NO YELLING. NO ARGUING. NO BACK TALK. NO PAINFUL YELLING THAT LEAVES MY HEART CRUSHED.
That’s what I want. An open field near an ocean or mountain. Or both. I want … quietness. I want to be still. I want to hear my heartbeat. Remember what it feels like to be … me.
Sometimes that’s all we need. An escape.
In my mind, I am there.
I got an invitation today that would make any mom jump up and down with excitement. I’m invited to a spa for a girl’s night of fun … and for a FREE pedicure, manicure, shoulder rub – complete with fun finger foods and drinks!!!
[Enter girlish squeal here.]
And guess what? I DID NOT immediately accept the e-vite.
Am I nuts, you ask? [Need you even ask the question?]
Well, let me explain.
I cringe a little at the idea of someone being subjected to my nasty feet and my never-touched fingernails. I am one of those rare girls who has NEVER had a manicure or pedicure. Ever. I don’t even paint my nails because I don’t want to draw attention to my hands. When my younger sister got married, my older sister said, “Aren’t you gonna do anything with your nails?”
I just looked at her as if to say, “OK, dumbass. We’ve been over this a million times. No I do not want to do anything to my pitiful nails because they’ll never look like yours even if we have the rest of my life to work on them.”
I know just writing this will lead to people LOOKING [shock!] at my hands tomorrow at work. I know my husband will laugh because he has asked me before why I never wear nail polish. My response: “Cause I’m not a slut.”
OK. I know that’s harsh. Not all sluts wear nail polish. Or is it not all women who wear nail polish are sluts? Well, if it’s fire-engine red and it’s on your fingernails, I leave that question up to you.
I’m totally kidding.
Last year during a work trip to Denver, my husband asked me if I wanted to stop in CVS to buy nail polish. I just looked at him and said I needed a Coke.
We left the store with a VERY nice pale pink (read: clear) nail polish and a Coke. He tried to make me buy RED or BRIGHT PINK. I just thought WTF?
Now, if you’ve never met me you might have this picture in mind of me in high top Converse, boy jeans, short hair and a flannel. Um, no. I haven’t worn that outfit since college!
But really, I am not boyish or anything. I’m just NOT really that girly, even when I try to be. Or at least I try to not draw attention to body parts that suck. My nails would be one of (many of) those parts. My nail beds are tiny and the nail itself has never grown in the right direction. Instead of growing in a nice, elegant, feminine curve, they kinda grow straight out, sometimes even curving UP. My sisters all get a huge kick out of this. They all think it’s a bit disturbing.
My mom says my hands look exactly like her brother’s. Um, yeah. He’s a man. He’s 6-foot-4. And did I mention he’s a dude???
So that’s my nails. Not pretty. Not sure what a nail tech would even do but stare at them and consider them a lost cause. How awful for me and her (or him).
And my feet? Well, let’s just say my husband cringes when he feels my feet literally scrape against him accidentally in the middle of the night. They are like sandpaper. I admit there are cracks.
‘Nuff said there.
I tentatively responded “yes!” to the e-vite earlier today when I found out I couldn’t sit around and contemplate the ordeal any longer. Turns out they’ll only take the first X-amount of people who respond. And I REALLY, REALLY want to go.
So I’ll head to the spa in a couple weeks, embarrassed as all hell.
I’m SUPER excited about it, which is strange. I think I’ve got it all figured out. Till then, I’ll try push back my cuticles (WHERE ARE MY CUTICLES?) and rub Crisco on my feet every night before bed and sleep with socks on to keep the moisture in.
Sound nasty? Yeah. I know. I am that nasty.
But just to reiterate: IAMTOTALLYTHRILLEDABOUTTHIS. Do not think I’m not. I’m just, well, DYING INSIDE to know someone has to see how little I’ve taken care of myself and reverse, oh, about 35 years of girly neglect.
Think that’s lame? I get my hair cut and highlighted about ONCE A YEAR as a Mother’s Day gift to myself. And this year … I didn’t go.
But that’s a whole other story …
This is a pile of Barefoot Books inventory that crowds my already-smallish closet.
The puppets are begging to come out and play.
(this is just a photo of a book I pulled out today.)
There’s no reason for this post whatsoever. So there. Deal. I just wanted to show off my messy closet.
I’m not going to name names or get into much about this topic, other than to say you need to be VERY CAREFUL around your cat.
In fact, take my co-worker’s advice and do not EVER kiss your cat on the mouth.
You will thank me for sharing her advice. Seriously.
That being said, a full-on makeout session with your other pets is highly acceptable. It’s just cats you need to stay away from.
In fact, if you have a pet pig, or even just come across one in a petting zoo or even on the side of a country road, walk up to it and give it the biggest kiss on the lips you’ve ever given in your life. Lick that swine-flu infested hunk-o-bacon up and down. Mmm. Just the thought of it reminds me of BACON.
Oh, geez. Look what you did! What were you thinking??
There’s been some talk of tasers in the house lately, which prompted this conversation earlier tonight.
Me: She wants to buy her mom a taser for Mother’s Day?!
Our oldest son: What’s a taser?
Me: Well, it’s hard to explain. It’s sorta like a gun but not. It is something that looks like a gun but it shocks people instead of shooting a bullet.
Son: I think a card makes a better Mother’s Day gift than a taser.
Yeah. Me, too.
So I decided to google “taser” tonight to see just what folks out there are saying about them and why this idea would ever even come to anyone as being a good gift for Mother’s Day. I mean, has there been a jumping or a mugging lately that I missed? Are we under assault as moms? I know it’s naive to think we are all safe, but I also like to think that I’m safe ENOUGH. Or at least I could kick some major butt if I needed to. (Yes, I know we are all susceptible to carjackings and muggings and … whatever. I’m just sayin’ … there are probably better gifts for Mother’s Day. Buy this for “Kick Someone’s Ass Day” or “Tase ‘Em and Put ‘Em Down Day.” Not Mom’s Day.)
I guess I just don’t think moms should have to carry tasers. A gun? Maybe. But not a taser.
Hee hee.
Then I stumbled upon this…and about fell off my chair.
The taser site is actually peddling their product in a lovely pink shade for the special mom in your life.
So you tell me. Are you buying your mom FLOWERS or a TASER for this Mother’s Day?
Here’s an idea: You could get her the flowers and if she complains, you could shoot her ass with the taser. Just a thought …
Or, skip the taser and go straight for the Glock.
Now THAT’S a gift a Mom can cherish. Bam, bam.
