Archie meets...a chicken

Archie’s thoughts:

Met a new female in my territory today. One word. EXOTIC. Ex-AH-tic. Wow.

Never seen anything like her. She was in a pack of friends but she ran away from them to make sure she got my attention. Did she! My legs were going as fast as my heart to catch her.

I caught up with her and everything was going fine until Alpha grabbed my leash laughing and saying something about, “Embarrassment…..interesting hybrid” and “violating a chicken.”

I thought for a moment what our pups could have looked like. My great ears and tail, her long legs… amazing. Not her muzzle though; it was her only flaw.

But Alpha ruined all of that. I tried again, knowing it was my destiny to father her pups. She led me into her house, a nice little red two story. Alpha commanded me to come. My exotic beauty stayed upstairs as I obediently left her to return to Alpha. I think she was heart broken. What could I do?

I chased her friends. Who were just as exotic and just as beautiful. One pulled some awesome maneuver I’ve never seen before and leaped onto a branch. I’m a pretty good jumper for a dog my size, but she was just out of reach. I looked around and the rest were no where to be seen. Females can be funny like that sometimes.

The story of my life- so close, yet so far.

Alpha just doesn’t understand love. Or destiny.

Archie out.


Alpha’s thoughts:

Stupid dog, trying to mate with chickens. What an embarrassment! I can see it now- a chicken body running around with Archie’s head and wagging tail. smh...

A FLAMINGO?!?

Last night, while visiting his neighbor, I noticed Matt has a flamingo in his yard. I thought to myself, "The guy has a flamingo!?!" I thought you had to be retired to earn one of those. 'Happy retirement- here’s you’re flamingo!' Or buy a house in Florida. You get the keys to your new home and a plastic pink flamingo as a bonus to show you are a valued customer and to say congratulations on your new home.

It took less than a minute to decide I had to somehow punk the flamingo. It just had to be done.

So I changed said flamingo’s placing among other lawn ornaments, but it just wasn’t enough. That’s when Erin suggested that the flamingo should have a tie and name tag like missionaries* do, since Matt is our ward missionary leader and we are his minions ward missionaries.

I was giddy with the thought.

Fabric with an undersea theme was procured and made into a tie (thanks for your help Eric K!) along with a mini name tag made reading “Elder Mingo.” Aiden donated his Harry Potter glasses and we soon we had a pretty decent looking flamingo, if I do say so myself. Definitely an improvement, anyway.

Aiden suggested Mr. Mingo should have a top hat. Gears started turning and I found myself making a list of other necessities for Mr. Mingo, and in doing so I feel I have inadvertantly found my true vocation- flamingo fashion!

This morning I was walking Archie home after dropping Aiden off from school and little dog was wearing his raincoat. My mind flashed to the poor pink flamingo standing in the rain. A quick detour showed that yes, Mr. Mingo was sadly neglected out in the rain, so Archie very gladly lent his raincoat to Mr. Mingo for a while.

Amazing how quickly I have become so fond of an object that has previously been so scorned and mocked. Mocking the flamingo with fashion is actually quite enjoyable- so much more so than scorning it, I have found. Who knew? Since I do not live in Florida and therefore am not surrounded by plastic pink garden flamingos I have yet to decide if naked flamingos still arouse my scorn. I may have to walk through the neighboring trailer park to see. I fear however, that a naked lawn flamingo with still be met with scorn- or, possibly now, pity?- because it is the dressing of the flamingo and then laughing at the ridiculousness of it that is enjoyable. Kind of like putting my dog in a raincoat.


*Don't know what I mean with all my talk of missionaries? Check it out: http://www.mormon.org/missionaries

**This actually happened at least 18 months ago, or more. I just found it cleaning up some files on my laptop. Trust me, this is just the beginning!

Raw, Ugly, Vulnerable, Messy, Confusing, but All Too Real Thoughts on "Should I Apply?"

I've just spent the past hour or so exploring every part of an art museum's website, and I think I can handle the Administrative Assistant job they have posted. 

It is 35 hours a week. I'd be working all summer. That is almost full time- 12 hours more than I was just working at the my last job. And I'd be working all summer. Away from Aiden and leaving him with a sitter that whole time and my chest feels tighter and my breaths come short and quick just thinking about it.

It sounds easier than what I've done in the past as a Program Manager. It isn't artistic, it is behind the scenes office and facilities management stuff. All of which I have experience in. Maybe not as fun as being an artist...ok, not at all as much fun as being an artist...

And I panic about working almost full time all summer while Aiden is out of school. I am physically feeling the panic. Leaving him with sitters has always been really super tough on me. Really extremely super tough on me. Which makes me think that I can't do this. 35 hours is a long time. Admin hours are Monday- Friday 9am-5pm. What if I get an unpaid lunch hour? I'll be at work for 7 hours instead of 6 every day. And then commute time on top of that. What if I leave work at 5 and then don't get home until 6pm or later every day? That is going to be super stressful for me. Starting at 9 and working until 3 or 4...is almost what I was working at my last job. If I take up my friend on her offer to  babysit for me I'd have a free sitter, but also a much longer commute.

I'm not sure of the pay. 35 hours at minimum wage would make my gross income enough to mess with my social security disability.

And now my anxiety levels are telling my brain that it is time to shut down :(  And so I think, in a much smaller voice, I can't do this. I think I want to- I did want to, I kind of want to, but now I'm not so sure and I'm scared and I don't think I can do this and be a good mom and take care of my boys and keep myself healthy, too. I don't think I can do all of this :/  and these thoughts make me feel like I am a bad and lazy person who is just making excuses.

And now, instead of excited I feel sad, frustrated and confused. 

Which is not how the Spirit works, right?

I remember talking with my bishop years ago, trying to decide if I should keep my job as a Program Manager or leave. He told me I was great at my job-- it just conflicted with my being a single mother and didn't allow me to meet my children's needs, and it was ok to know I'm good at my job but it is better for my family that I leave it and look for something that would allow my family to be my priority.

I don't see how this job could be as stressful as that one was. But leaving Aiden for that long is an immeasurable stress on me :P

Pros- I'd be working at an art museum. I think I can easily handle the job requirements. Money, benefits.

Cons- 35+ hours a week is a long time to be away from Aiden, especially in the summer.

Pros- Working there anyway will force me out of my comfort zone and will be an opportunity for me (and the boys?) to grow.

Cons- I'm afraid that instead of growing I'll get overwhelmed, depressed and have a nervous break down. No- I'm terrified of it. I'm terrified of my depression swallowing me whole and not being the mom my boys need me to be. Is it possible to have PTSD about past bouts of depression? :P
Pros- Working there would be good for networking with art-y people. I think I'd get a discount on stuff in the gift shop.
Cons- I'd be constantly wanting to shop in the gift shop. And most likely I'd be bored with the museum's collection in about a month. I'm sure I've already seen most of the art there over a few dozen times already. And instead of artistic people I will be working with business people focusing on getting money to try to keep the business in the black. And I hate sales and anything related to it.

And my brain is telling me this is way too much drama in my head already and wasn't it already complaining of over stimulation and the need to shut down 10 minutes ago already?????

And another part of my brain says, "Shut up, suck it up, stop being a wuss and making such a big stinking deal out if it, get over it and get a job like everybody else has to, like it or not. It isn't a perfect world, you aren't any better than anyone else, so what, stop being a baby, quit crying, quit making excuses, pull your pants up and just get a job already!" Because it is all in my head, I just make a big deal out of nothing and their (certain family and friends) hard earned money goes out in taxes to lazy welfare people (I don't get welfare!) who need to just grow up, be responsible and get jobs. (Sometimes I really hate them and their posts on facebook.) 

THIS is why I hate discussing my work, or lack thereof, situation with anybody. It is just too much to explain. I'd rather poke myself in the eye and just walk away. So much easier. And I'd probably seem so much less crazy than if I actually tried to explain all of this to some random acquaintance. 

The simple, often asked question, "What type of work are you looking for?" makes my head want to explode. Why, I'd love to teach art from my home, but it just really isn't an option right now, so I'll settle for something that simply allows me to keep my sanity and out of an emotionally draining black hole if possible, thanks for asking. I'd love to go back to what I was doing when I left Utah four months ago, but New York isn't exactly Utah (go look on fb- their posts will remind you). And I really miss the job I left but loved so much there.

 

I wonder what the local vocational rehabilitation office could do to help me.

I need to finish filling out the paperwork I started and go down to the office.

Which is somewhere in my messy room. Paperwork. The dreaded  p a p e r w o r k. Which, actually, would fall under the Cons list for this job- I always hated doing anything related to payroll.

Just shoot me now.
Or feed me, the stress has made me hungry. And tired. I am past over-done. Good night :P


* FYI * I will not respond well to negative or rude comments on this. This is my blog- which right now is my place to vent and get the mess out of my head. Respect this as my space and post any negative reaction to it in your own rant on your own blog or fb page. 

 P.S.
Didn't I post something about soul-spewing once upon a time? Yeah, that is what this post is. It is Christmas day (or was when I started typing) and I've had too much junk food and not enough sleep over the past few days and I've been fighting a funk for about a week now. Because of the cross country move and all the joys of relocating my insurance won't kick in until the first of the new year, which is when I will meet my new doctor and get some help with my awful fibro pain and some other health issues. I can hold on for one more week!

I try hard to not be a negative person, to not say or write things that will hurt someone's feelings, but sometimes it gets me and tonight I just needed to get it out. This originally started as a hopeful email to a few friends about a job I thought I'd apply for. I started typing (4 1/2 hours ago) and ended up soul-spewing. Guess the job isn't a good fit for me after all. 

But I really do need to catch up on some sleep. And will begin again tomorrow.

P.P.S.
I think Tyler gets his drama queen and creative writing genes from me ;)

And I'm still hungry! 
 

Dear FACS Teacher

Dear FACS Teacher,

You might be able to tell by the comments on my son's homework that I really did not like the last homework assignment. Maybe it was because he had all weekend but waited until after bedtime on the night before it was due- a night when I was already "done"- overstimulated, overtired, just DONE.

And your assignment. Even on the best of days would have been the worst assignment, but as I've pointed out, this was not the best day or time.

My son is a great kid. He has good manners, he is helpful and respectful, smart, funny, he tries to make friends with kids who don't seem to have friends, he's a natural at karate and reads at an 8th grade level in 6th grade. He can cook, clean bathrooms, do laundry, babysit, wash the dog, sweep, mop, shovel snow, pile wood, take out the trash and all sorts of household chores. He turns 12 next week. He does more than a lot of his peers because he has a single mom who has a disability and sometimes she can't do the chores. Even when she can do chores he has to help because he's been raised that families do the chores together.

However, no one is perfect. This son in particular, though wonderful in many ways and in many things, is an idiot when it comes to doing dishes. And  vacuuming for some reason, but that wasn't part of the assignment.

Years have been spent trying to teach this child to do dishes. The best we've come up with so far is having older brother wash while he rinses, dries and puts away. Experience has proven that it is best if I remain out of the kitchen during the entire process.

I don't get upset when the dishes break. I buy them inexpensively at the thrift store and keep replacements in the cupboard above the fridge for that very reason. Maybe I am more anal   uptight  choosy than most about how my dishes are done. The simple fact is I want them CLEAN. When they look worse after washing them than they did before washing them I have a problem.I'm not talking about spots on dishes, though that does drive me crazy. I'm talking about fingerprints, lip prints, food particles, soap bubbles...

I do admit to being somewhat of a germaphobe. I don't eat food off the floor or the ground or walk on grass that has fertilizer or pesticides on it. My toothbrush is kept in the medicine cabinet so germs don't get on it when the toilet flushes. I have also worked in plenty of restaurants and tend to keep my kitchen the same way I would at work. Dishes washed in hot, soapy water, sometimes a bleach rinse, air dried whenever possible before putting away, bleach cutting boards,etc.  I also dislike most commercial cleaners like 409 and Lysol so I use vinegar, baking soda, and On Guard to disinfect, disinfect, disinfect the kitchen counters, sink, dishes, etc.especially if any type of raw meat has been used. Yes, I know. A germaphobe who is also "phobic" of most cleaning products. A paradox, I know. I'm living it.

You may easily judge me now as a control freak, but I'm really not. About most things I am pretty laid back. When the boys do dishes I only interfere when the dishes are still dirty after being washed. Which brings me back to the original point of my letter/post. Thing 2 can't seem to learn how to get dishes CLEAN. This is a sore spot in our relationship. He can't even load the dishwasher on his own after four months and many patient lessons on how to do so. Something about cleaning dirty dishes impairs brain functioning in this kid.

Tonight's homework assignment of doing dishes began, after bedtime I'd like to remind you, on an extremely busy kinda crazy day I'd like to remind you, by Thing 2 (aka Younger Child) grabbing a dish rag and hand soap. I had to stop him and redirect him to the dish soap. Which he grabbed and unscrewed the cap off. Was that really necessary? No. Neither was the inch worth of soap poured from the soap bottle (not an exaggeration! When I looked at the bottle after chasing him from the kitchen the level of soap was down by an inch!) because he didn't screw the cap back on tightly and it fell off while he was trying to squirt the soap out. Leading us to...

ARGUMENT #1! That went something like this:
Me: What are you doing???
T2: I'm sorry it was an accident.
Me: How can you unscrew the cap on accident? That wasn't an accident. An accident is something like 'oh, I slipped' NOT unscrewing the cap on the soap!
T2: Yes it was an accident, I didn't mean to pour so much or have the thing come off.
Me: Well the cap wouldn't have come off if you hadn't unscrewed it and not put it back on the right way, which wasn't an accident to begin with, it was just idiocy. You don't "accidently" unscrew something. You can't just say 'oh it was an accident' and be an idiot and make it ok.
T2: Frustrated and washing plate according to directions. Proceeds to rinse plate in cold water, also according to directions. Now I'm rinsing in cold water like the directions say to.
Me: Kind of annoyed at directions, especially since I've tried for years to teach child how to wash dishes. Wondering if dumb directions said anything about using dish soap instead of hand soap. Looking at dish as T2 dries. That isn't clean. It's greasy.

Begin ARGUMENT #2!
T2: No it isn't! How can you even tell!?
 Me: Right there! It looks greasy, it feels like it and right there is a soap bubble.
T2: No there isn't!
Me: Yes, there is. And do the directions tell you that leaving soap on dishes will give someone diarrhea?..
T2: Beginning to talk over me. What? Where? No! How do you even SEE that?!
Me: IT IS THERE. I SEE IT RIGHT THERE. Rinsing plate in cold, then hot water and being a jerk.Yes, cold water gets the suds off, but did the directions say rinsing in hot water helps the dishes to dry faster?
T2: Frustrated sigh. Reaches for the dish soap-
                                                                    Me: NO! What are you doing!? You already have way too much soap and that's the problem! You get an F+! No, an F-!

T2: Rewashes and dries plate.
Me: Mumbling incoherently about it not being an accident and waiting until the worst time to do this stupid homework assignment and wondering, "Where is my glass bottle?" (which shall be explained to those unknowing in a future post.)

Usually, in my own defense, I would not have been quite the monster-mom I was tonight. Usually I would not write in notes on the side of the homework paper that say things like, "I hated this. We argued!" Usually by bedtime I have at least changed out of my pajamas even if I didn't get a shower. What can I say? Some days just don't go according to plan.

After he went up to bed Julie listened to me rant and laughed at me, which was ok because it helped diffused the situation a bit. She's good like that.

Aiden came back downstairs looking for a pillow case. I tried to apologize, but I just made a mess of it. I told him it would be pretty obvious to the teacher that I had a bad attitude when I filled out his paper. I told him maybe we should photocopy the front and have Julie fill out the back for him; that would be a lot more fair to him.

Now in Thing 2's defense, he is really a great kid. He really was tired himself and had stayed home from school sick today. Friday night he spent the night at my ex-husband's for Thing 1's birthday and Saturday was a busy day of laser tag, birthday cake and then going directly to church to be the cow in the Christmas Nativity Pageant. Sunday is the Sabbath, so we don't do homework even if we aren't sick.

And most adults wouldn't have earned a much higher grade washing dishes if I were grading them. Honestly. Especially in the mood I was in earlier tonight.

My point is, Mrs. W (and all other dear readers), is that I do think he can handle washing dishes and making a cake in FACS class. I was just in BIG JERK MONSTER MOM mode when I filled out his homework paper, and I'm sorry. No one is perfect, and though I am a wonderful mother in many ways, something about grading my son doing dishes impairs brain functioning in me.

In my son's defense, he never has called me BIG JERK MONSTER MOM, even when I have been. See? I told you he was a good kid.

Just please don't ask me to grade him on washing dishes ever again.

Seasons

*I must have written this last year, or much earlier this year and for some reason didn't publish it until finding it as a draft today*

 To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

 A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

 A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

 A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

 A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

 A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

 A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

 A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8   

I'd say right now I am not in the season of having a clean home. I am in the season of teaching boys to do chores and become responsible, preferably without whining or complaining if possible. Which also means I am in the days of broken dishes that slipped out of soapy gloved hands and explaining the difference between "kids' clean" and "Mom clean" and when each is acceptable, expected, or demanded.

I'm in the season of learning and reminders of manners, such as "help that lady," "hold the door,"  "don't interrupt," "use your napkin," and "please remember to lift the toilet seat."

This is the season of growing pains, growth spurts, hormonal outbursts (from both me and the boys), a teenager who takes forever in the bathroom and constantly buying new clothes and shoes. 

The season of loosing sneakers with no idea where they are for weeks (yes, plural- weeks) and stepping on legos barefoot even after being promised they were picked up. 

For getting a driver's license, a debit card and a summer job. Of stressing out over final exams, karate tests, and "someone told her I have a crush on her!" along with other pre-teen and teen embarrassments.

These days I find myself saying, "stop torturing the dog!" "Stop instigating!" "Don't jump over the back of the couch!" "Did you do your homework?" and learning that they say, "I love you," in not so many words any more but in many varied ways compared to a few short seasons ago.

Counting down from 100 and back again in funny voices when the youngest can't sleep. Texts, inside jokes and contests to see who can sing the fastest. Reading the scriptures, philosophical chats that last late into the night and cups of cocoa while looking at the stars and sitting wrapped in sleeping bags, no matter what time of year it is. Boys sharing whispered secrets way past bedtime and wrestling and making amateur claymation movies with my video camera and Play Dough by day.

These are the signs of my season with not-quite-so-young sons.