I Suck

Why can’t I just buckle down and write?

I need to get over myself.  Plain and simple.

I know that I have a billion things going on and that everything seems to happen at once…but is that really an excuse?  Nope. I think the real issue is that I need to get over myself again.  I started this blog as a release and then people started to really read it.  It made me happy that people enjoyed it but then I got nervous.  What if I wrote something that upset someone?  What if someone found out something about me that they thought was horrible?  What if…

The old “perfect” gene kicked in and I started watching myself.  I would sit down to write and unless I could come up with something that was completely readable by the masses I would give up and check Facebook. 

Recent events have re-energized my need to write and my lack of concern about who gives a damn.

So life unplugged here we go.

I suck at this...

I was doing so well for so long...and then I fell off the blogging wagon.  So I am getting back on the horse or whatever silly saying fits in this situation.  So much has been happening and I think I have just been living in the moment and then crashing.  I forgot how good it felt to just let it out by writing.

I pledge to blog.  I promise...well, I promise that I will try. 

Fred

I have a zit on my forehead that I have decided to name Fred.  Fred is large and red and well, disgusting.  He seems fond of my forehead and will not go away.  Because he will not leave he has enjoyed every freaking product known to man that is supposed to get rid of friends like Fred.  I have tried them all.  I even have been desperate enough to Google zit removal ideas which led to fun things like Visine, toothpaste, warm towels and steam showers.  Fred seems to like these things even more than the standard store bought methods of removal. 

So, I have decided he is hanging around for a while.  I have since employed a plethora of cover up techniques.  From the cheap drug store brands to the expensive "don't tell my husband I bought this" products.  No luck.  Fred likes to be seen.  He somehow manages to work his way through everything I have thrown his way.  And quickly.  Within minutes there he is shining away. 

Fred and I have been to battle and he has won.  I give up. 

And along this route I must ask, how it is possible that I went through my teens with very little acne issues only to get pregnant and have my face explode in full teenage angst?  Why do I have winkles AND zits?  How did my hormones change so much that my skin is now completely horrible?  I can deal with the weight gain and the fact that my feet grew a 1/2 size so all my old shoes didn't fit any more.  I don't mind the fact that I have a scar (although I could do without the c-section "pooch" thank you very much) and I have found a few killer bras to help with the saggy boob thing.  But my skin?  No bueno.  I would kill for my pre-pregnancy zitless pores. 

Fred and I are going to sleep now.  He has been bathed in a very special concoction tonight that promises to get rid of "those pesky pimples before the big dance the next day!"  Yes, I have resorted to pre-teen acne treatments that I put on before my night creme and eye cream to combat the wrinkles.  Ain't life grand.

OK...fine...you win...

In honor of the whole point of this damn blog I am posting the picture of me with Scout's beauty make-over. 

This was right before she covered by entire face with blush...I didn't get a picture of that one-darn!

Vomit in the Morning Part II

I am not indestructible after all...I got it.  The dreaded stomach bug that has been going around.  It started last night and today has been miserable.

The worst part is that it took away a Saturday.  As a working mom it is so hard to miss an entire day that I get to spend with my kiddos.  I shed  a few tears over that but keeping them away from the germs and not witnessing their mommy performing an act from The Exorcist was probably better in the long run.

Hope it really is only a 24 hour gig.  I'm starting to feel a bit better.  I really want to make it to church in the morning.  We have been SO bad lately.  The cold weather has kept us home and then the kids were sick for 2 weeks...so it has been awhile.

Wish me luck.  I am thinking about eating some toast.

I need to allow myself time.

I have a confession.  I do not have a case for my sunglasses.

Now before you think I have lost my mind and share that you too do not have a case for your sunglasses, let me finish!

I watched a woman today place her sunglasses into a case and then place the case in her purse.  Not an amazing sight, I understand...but it made me realize that I am not that woman.  The woman today also didn't have random things falling out of her purse when she reached in to get the sunglasses case.  Her whole person was calm with the ability to slow down, even just for a few additional seconds, and put her glasses in the case.

Wow, Becca...how deep...right?

I don't slow down.  I typically don't take the extra seconds to place my change from the drive-thru into a special cup that will then be available for parking meters.  Instead I scrounge around on the floor of my car hoping that I snag a quarter and not a dime.  I don't have a special box for my photos, carefully labeled by month, event or even by child.  I have boxes full of random photos that might be from high school and might be the birth of my son.  I can't be bothered to organize my make-up drawer by types of make-up, making sure to throw out anything older than a year.  I dig through the pile of years worth of crap that I have gathered and don't ever use.  Don't even ask about my spice cabinet.

At times I have tried.  I bought a label maker.  I've purchased all the organizer do-das on the market.  I have owned a sunglasses case in my lifetime.  It just won't stick.  I usually stick up my nose and say that I have more important things to do than worry about my daughters crayons daring to mix with her markers.  I try and justify the fact that by not being so concerned by those little things I have more time to other things.  But I secretly remember the feeling when I have opened the make-up drawer (after a fit of cleaning for some unknown reason) and felt so calmed by everything being where it is supposed to be.  How nice it was when I was cooking for those three weeks after I took the time to organize my spice cabinet.  In all honestly how much time to I save spending hours searching for things all the time instead of taking a hour to make a place for things to be? 

I was jealous of a woman who placed her sunglasses in a case today, because she allowed herself the time.  

New Year's Resolution

I decided my New Year's Resolution this year would be to start a blog.  I love to write, I love to read other people's blogs, so it seemed like a resolution that I could actually stick to.  So...did anyone notice the date?  I think that the fact that it is January 16th and I am just now starting the blog should be a great example of why I decided to name my resolution blog "Why I'm Not Perfect."  At this point in my life I have come to realization that "perfect" is not going to happen.  "Perfect" is a word that is no longer an acceptable goal.

A little background on my "perfection" situation.

Growing up I was always told that I could be anything I wanted to be.  I was encouraged and loved and given opportunities that other people could only dream about.  I'm not bragging--just being honest.  My parents were great people who cared about raising a woman not just a child.  I was very lucky.  I was also told that it was OK to fail as long as I was trying.  As long as I put myself out there the end result really didn't matter.  My parents also told me to ignore the naysayer's.  That it didn't matter what anyone thought of me as long as I was OK with myself.

Sound "perfect" right?

The only problem was that while all of this parental encouragement and ego boosting was occurring, I was also under a microscope.  I lived in a town where literally everyone knew my name.  And not in the happy "Norm!" way on Cheers.  My dad was an important guy in my town.  He owned the local radio stations and had a daily radio show.  He used this show to talk about local current events, interview important people and embarrass his children.  OK...I don't think he really meant to embarrass us, but he did on an almost daily basis.  (I'll try and share the "my daughter became a woman" radio show at some point, if I can stand the horror in actual print form.)  Everyone knew my dad growing up.  Add in a grandfather who was almost more popular than my father and it was difficult to go anywhere without running into someone who knew me.  Or at least they thought they knew me.

So the struggle to look "perfect" began.  I had an image to keep up.  I didn't want to embarrass my family or start the rumor mill going with some mistake that I made.  Sure--as I got older I rebelled against, well, almost everything...but I still was hyper aware of my public image.  I tried to move away a couple of times but it never stuck.  Then I realized a few years ago that I not only grew up in this world but I had embraced it as an adult.  I took jobs that put me in the public eye.  I volunteered and got involved with my community.  I put myself into the position to continue having a "perfect" public image.  I guess it wasn't that bad after all...

I am known to plaster a smile on my face and I always respond to people with "Doing great!  How about you?" even when I feel like my world in about to explode.  I try and wear the right thing, drive the right car, be friends with the right people.  All in the name of perfection. 

And I have done it to my children.  My daughter is six and already understands about putting on a face for the world.  And I hate that.

So, why am I now deciding to admit my imperfections?  Why now on a blog that the world can see?  Because four days ago I sat in a doctor's office with my ten month old son while a doctor discussed all the reasons why my son isn't perfect.  No--I am not talking about not being perfect because he wore the wrong label or didn't get in to the right Mommy and Me music class.  My son is not perfect because he potentially has a genetic syndrome that has hard wired his body to fail.  A doctor pulled apart my son's features, his beautiful face and body, and discussed how his eyes were too far apart, his ears tilted a little too far back, even his toes curled the wrong direction.

And the entire time she was talking I wanted to grab her and scream "Don't you see he is perfect?  Don't you see the incredible little person he is?  I made him!  I made that little guy that you are so easily seeing as some sort of genetic fluke.  He is perfect."

And he is.  He is perfect in all of his imperfections.  Just like me.  Just like my daughter and my family and everyone else in this crazy world.

Now I have decided to celebrate the imperfections of my world.  I am going to embrace the fact that I sometimes give my daughter chocolate cereal for dinner because I am too tired to cook.  I am going to celebrate the fact that I have a room in my house that I don't let anyone in because I throw all of the junk in there when they come to visit.  I have picked my nose, farted in public and peed my pants.  WHOO-HOOO!

Instead of waiting for the test results to come back and tell me that my son is not perfect, I am going to tell you right now that he isn't.  And that I am just fine with that diagnosis.  He is exactly who he is supposed to be and he is loved more than he will ever know because of that.

I invite you, whoever you are out there, to enjoy the journey of acceptance with me.  Not in a self-help book kind of way...but in an honest, who really gives a damn, let it all hang out kind of way.

If you were able to make it this far you now understand another couple of reasons I'm not perfect...I can't spell and I don't know when to stop talking!