Nobody wants to be completely honest. Unless there’s wine involved 😉
I read so many ‘mommy blogs.’ I pander to them in my work as a blogger/social media marketer. I identify with them as a mom. Until I’ve read so fucking many of the same goddamn thing, I just wish bitches would shut the fuck up!
And then, late at night (or early in the morning — or whenever a quiet moment and inspiration align), I become one. I am shouting out into the ether, begging for someone to notice me. I want to know that I am not alone. I want to entertain or relieve or relate to someone else out there.
And I want to do about 56 billion other things because I have ADD. That means Attention Deficit Disorder, although it seems to be classified as “Inattentive” ADHD.
I am still struggling with recognizing this as an actual disorder. Everyday, I feel like, “If I was good enough….,” this wouldn’t be a problem. And I don’t know that that isn’t true. 😦
But I do know that since I began admitting that I was attention deficit, and taking medication for it, I have been able to complete more sentences. I have also burnt less food, and I have been able to remember why I was mad at any one of my numerous children, instead of just blaming my agitation on my generic failures as a mother.
Does any of this make sense? Or do I just sound like a bigger basket case for putting a label on it?
Depending on your answer, I could go on indefinitely about it…haha, that is the nature of the disorder!
I like writing.
When I took the ASVAB test in 7th grade (just had to Google that to see if it was still a thing, my self-restraint is working overtime to keep me on track with this post instead of seeing if I can retake it online right now for free. This is why I never get things done!) it said I should be a writer. I thought that was cool since I liked to write but never really imagined it panning out.
When a company I was working for asked me to write for their blog, I was stoked. And now I like to say with a little bravado, “I’m a writer.” But then I quickly downplay that because blogging doesn’t feel like what 7th grade me thought the ASVAB results meant (and since blogging wasn’t even a thing back then, it clearly wasn’t!).
But anyway, I started (and haphazardly maintain) this blog because I like writing. And also because I wanted to write down some of the good things about life, the happy moments that are too quickly forgotten in the onslaught of undone chores and never-ending negotiations. I kind of veered off of that noble track because I like to think of myself as kind of clever and witty, maybe even funny, so I’ve been trying to share more of my humor here. But I was just rereading older posts (is that narcissistic?) and got all sentimental about this one.
So to hop back on that track for a moment, I wanted to preserve this piece of art (before it becomes a piece of trash) that my Kindergartner made for my 2 year old. He is currently OBSESSED with “Bubble Guppies” so she wrote “bg” on the picture. I’m not sure if there are any more connections to the show and the picture than that, the blue could be water, but it could be sky — it looks like there is a sun in the upper right…? The lower portion has some yellow circles, your guess is as good as mine….
But it sure was sweet and thoughtful, wasn’t it?!?!?
I don’t think I’ll make it a habit to share recipes here. I am not a foodie – I have four kids – ain’t nobody got time for that! <> (I won’t insert a meme here because I don’t want to deal with copyright issues, but you know what I mean, right?)
But I just made something delicious, and its taking all my self restraint not to eat it all gone and save some for the kids. If the kids like it as much as I do, then I’ll feel like I just hit the jackpot!
So easy, so delicious.
All I did was open a can of chick peas (garbanzo beans), strain and rinse them, rub them dry with a dish cloth (a paper towel would work, but I dream of being zero waste so I opted for an option that wasn’t disposable *pats self on back*). I swished them around a bowl with a little olive oil, a spray of Bragg’s amino acids, and a sprinkle of salt and pepper. Then I poured them on a baking sheet and put them in the oven. I preheated it to 420 (because I used to smoke pot and I liked it) but after about 15 minutes, I was worried they would overcook and I dialed it back to 350. Another 10 minutes and I was crunching away on a salty snack that I am only avoiding by typing this blog.
What else can I say about the deliciousness I just made? If I don’t talk some more about it, I won’t be able to let my kids try it because I will have eaten them all?!?! I will probably go to bed in the spirit of preserving this yummy snack for my children.
P.S. Google “roasted chick peas” if you want a more seasoned foodies perspective on this snack…
The Crunchy Mama vs. The Tiger Mom
Round 1: Tiger Mom points out that her child is proficient in three languages, knows martial arts, and has already been accepted to two different Ivy League colleges….in the 5th grade.
Crunchy Mama counters with a lecture on the importance of non-violence and her scorn for all institutions.
Round 2: Crunchy Mama doesn’t leave a window of opportunity open, she slams that window shut and sprays some homemade vinegar cleaning spray on it so she can see an attack coming from a mile away!
Tiger Mom dips and bobs; while you think she’s attacking head on, her offspring execute strategic moves like in a game a chess. “Checkmate!” can be heard from miles away as they move in for the finishing move.
Round 3: Mommy and Me yoga pays off for Crunchy Mama; she assumes Mountain Pose while her Little moves into Downward Dog. Tiger Mom’s finishing moves are dodged, but she rebounds with her first born’s PhD in Alternative Dispute Resolution. This speaks to Crunchy Mama’s soul and the two become BFF’s 4 eva!
This is random and unfinished, but it’s been a while since I wrote something for myself, so here’s something.
My dad died when I was 15.
My husband has been hoarding, destroying, or otherwise causing silverware to disappear.
These things are kind of alike.
I was at Wal-Mart recently and in a moment of magical memory, I actually remembered that for the last two weeks, despite having just unloaded a clean dishwasher, there were virtually no forks in our silverware drawer. This is weird because less than six months ago, I just reloaded all of our silverware. WTF, right? I have suspicions. But what would I gain from accusing my husband, or even (mock) innocently inquiring if he had any rogue silver stashed in his office? Would he dramatically say “Bwahaha! Yes! I have all the forks and you can’t have them!”? No. That’s ridiculous. That also would do little to solve the problem.
When I remember my dad’s last days, I don’t feel much anymore. I used to feel rage, sorrow, disappointment and blame toward myself and others. And what did I get out of it? NOT SHIT.
Much like the forks, it’s easier, more logical, to just accept the facts and move on. We had plenty of forks. Then we didn’t. So we got more forks. My dad was alive. Then he wasn’t. I was still alive. Raging at the injustice of my loss did nothing. Feeling inexplicable sorrow did nothing. Blaming myself for things that were beyond my capacity and control didn’t change the circumstances. Neither did blaming anyone else.
For a long time, I felt untethered. Like I had no anchor. A dad should be an anchor, right? But the days continued to pass. I wasn’t lost at sea, I was just making a series of bad decisions and using the excuse that I didn’t know any better because blah blah blah.