I had a photo shoot today for a local girl scout troop. It was hotter than beans today and not a day I would usually choose to be outside in, but the idea of an hour of alone time without the screeching kids, begging dog, messy house, laundry or nagging husband and I jumped at the chance. I used to fear being alone. The thought of being alone gave me chills.
Now I revel my alone time. I seek it out like a lost sock. Always looking, searching…looking.
After the photo shoot I went to the grocery store to pick up milk. Just between you and me though, I was just trying to stretch out my alone time. I took my sweet ass time, bought a bunch of crap we didn’t even need. I even stood in the freezer section and read some of the Halloween issue of Martha Stewart Living (I love her to pieces).
When I was in the check out line a young kid came up behind me in line. I offered him the opportunity to cut in front of me in line. He was just buying a single Gatorade after all. He smiled and said “no thank you” and said that he was having a fantastic day and was enjoying his day, he wasn’t in a hurry and he had all the time in the world. The nosey noser know-it-all in me wanted to ask why, but the respectful adult that I am trying to be held back.
While I was paying, he started chatting with the cashier that he apparently knew. Turns out that this young kid and his fiance’ had just called off their engagement and had broken up.
I admired his upbeat attitude and general happy-as-a-clam happiness. I wish that young kid the very best.
Then I got home.
I walked in to a tornado fury of attitude, resentment, energy, whining, smelling of bacon, hot-house. I almost dropped my bags and ran out the door.
Apparently the evening wasn’t so fun and relaxing for my family. They were hot, tired and cranky. My husband shot me glances of resentment and frustration. With lots of nods like “this evening has been hell-welcome to the hell hole”.
My son was racing around the house like a crazy person on crack. That boy gets fits of energy that can rival the Tasmanian devil.
My daughter was whiney and cranky and only wanted to be held.
This situation was the exact opposite of what I had just left-the young kid buying Gatorade who had just been dumped by his fiance but still calm and happy as a clam. It was like I was on the twilight show.
Life is directed by the kind of attitude you have.
Turns out, the evening was hell here at home because my husband was trying to watch the football game and didn’t give my kids the time of day. I would act like a whiney, energetic freak to get attention too. I love my Al-Bundy-esk husband and all, he is a great dad, but he brought that on himself. It was his shitty attitude that made the energy in the house a hell hole.
I brought the calm to the house that was desperately needed and I learned a big lesson today…
Don’t schedule photo shoots on football Sundays.
I haven’t been posting here lately for a very good reason.
I got “gun-shy”.
The MomsLA blogging community recently created a tribe on Triberr which if you haven’t heard of, is (although semi-corney ) an amazing website that creates groups of bloggers in “tribes” and publishes each others blog posts on twitter. This helps amplify each others posts and creates a bigger network of listeners.
Only, I just got back in this blogging saddle and I’m not quite confident in my personal posts just yet.
I’m in a tribe full of amazing bloggers with amazing talent and a huge reader reach with endorsements and yadda yadda yadda.
I felt like my posts couldn’t possibly live up to their standards.
But, with that attitude-this blog would never go anywhere. It would just sit here. Blank…boring…blank.
So screw it, I’m going to keep writing.
Lame as it may be, immature thought it might be, substandard quite possibly.
But it’s mine and it’s me.
I would really like to think of myself as an Earth conscious “green” person…but apparently I am not.
I recently purchased a cute top to wear to a few BlogHer parties I was invited to thanks to Aracely Worley. The top was cute, a light peach color with lace sleeves (that’s about as fashionable as I can make any top sound-sorry I’m just not much of a fashionista). This top was my new favorite…that is-until I went to wash it.
Picture this, I’m standing in the laundry room (aka the hallway from the garage to the house that the builders decided to shove washer/dryer hookups in) where I’m really taking great care of my
expensive cotton t-shirts and 50 pairs of mom jeans. When there like a fake lottery ticket I found out that my new favorite light peach color top with lace sleeves was “hand wash only” HAND WASH. ONLY.
To say it lightly, I was kind of shocked.
I stood there in my hallway laundry room kind of like flabbergasted and dumbfounded. I was thinking that I would never wear my new favorite light peach shirt with the lace sleeves again.
“Hand wash?” I thought. “Really? Who does that? Isn’t hand washing for pioneer times women who churn their own butter and pluck their own chickens?”
I was mad at Old Navy for even creating such a ridiculous light peach colored top with lace sleeves that had a need for such medieval washing methods.
I wanted to throw that damn light peach colored top out in the trash. Dispose of it on the pronto.
Then I realized (after several minutes) that hand washing clothes must be like hand washing dishes.
Reading that sentence back makes me sound like such a dumb blonde, but I assure you-I was dead serious.
Hand washing shouldn’t be that big of a deal. It’s probably even a better method of getting clothes clean. But in my ‘Disposable Me’ mindset I was ready to toss that light peach top out in the trash-chosing time convenience over Earth consciousness.
But, just to be brutally honest-my once favorite new light peach top with the lace sleeves is still in the cupboard waiting to be hand washed. 😉