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How the heck could I forget to mention that tucked inside of this month is my youngest sister’s wedding?
In Pennsylvania?
On Middle Man’s bday weekend?
Love ya, Toad, really. But Middle Man’s ticked off at you. 
So add in that and, well, it’s a busy, VERY EXPENSIVE month.
Everyone’s all festive and smiley and singing carols and every other car has a Christmas tree tied to the roof.
Everyone’s all freakin’ happy and talking about finishing their shopping and about what they’re getting and giving and what foods they plan to eat.
And this is exactly when I shut down. I can’t take it any longer.
Yup. It’s that time of year when I lose it.
You see, hubby and I weren’t so good on our fertility planning, it seems, and we have a REALLY CRAPPY month every December.
Why? You ask?
Well, it goes like this.
Dec. 11 is Big Man’s birthday. Seven days later it’s Middle Man’s birthday. Seven days later is Christmas. Seven days later is New Year’s.
Add in a salary cut and a few furloughs and Voila! December sucks.
And for some reason, dear hubby never listens to me (I love you, babe! But you don’t) and we NEVER start shopping early for any of this craziness. NEVER.
And here it is, December something or other, and we haven’t purchased crap. I finally got a few things online this past weekend, which helps, but it doesn’t make a dent in what we need to accomplish over a short couple of weeks.
So what? So what? You think it’s easy to just go out and buy stuff and get it over with? You don’t feel bad for me?
Come on. Feel my pain.
I sometimes (almost always) feel like a single mom (shout out to you single moms. YOU ROCK). I’m HOME ALONE with the kids (THREE BOYS!!!) all night every weekday while hubby works. Makes it a little tough to do anything. And shopping with them is out of the question. They’re obviously going to notice me loading up the cart with Bakugan and Pokemon and Wii games.
Duh.
And we have no family in town. No built-in, free babysitters.
Yo, it sucks paying a sitter every stinkin’ time you need to run an errand without kids. Sucks.
So yeah. Again. Woe is me.
I reserve the right to lose it. It’s December. Bah humbug.
(P.S. I actually LOVE birthdays and Christmas. LOVE them. It’s that whole leading up to them that sucks eggs.)
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 crap.
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.
