Mother's Day

Real bloggers have been doing this and it looked fun so here's my contribution.

In honor of Mother's Day, I've listed 10 things I didn't know before I became a Mother.
In no particular order:

10 - I didn't know that I would become increasingly controlling and OCD-like yet learn to let go of so much.
9 - I didn't know the highlight of my days would be spent in a classroom - where I'm not paid - and never bitch about it.
8 - I didn't know it would be so difficult to find family friends where everyone in that family likes everyone from our family.
7 - I didn't know I'd understand my own mother.
6 - I didn't know I'd spend more than one day in a kid theme hotel because of their water slide and love it.
5 - I didn't know how much a child could have so many of your bratty tendencies (and that I'd be a little proud).
4 - I didn't know that I would become "THAT" Mom. (You know what kind of Mom I'm talking about, too.)
3 - I didn't know how much a "Littlest Pet Shop" would really, really hurt when stepped upon.
2 - I didn't know girls have toilet aim just as bad as little boys (how does that happen?).
1 - I didn't know I was truly capable of loving so openly.

It's a slow start

There have been a million posts I've started to write; both on this page & in my head and just never finished.
As many people are, I'm a little (ahem) crazy. I'm probably overly-critical of myself and perhaps slightly insecure. When I'm doing something (in this case - writing) and it seems that it's just not right/good enough/lacking/(insert negative adjective here), I walk away. Sometimes I push through and come out the other end with successful results.
Except there are just so many things that I am not good enough/lacking/bad/(insert another negative adjective here) at that this blog and my writing was ignored. With the risk of sounding very much martry-ry (that's not a word - whatever), I face many challenges throughout my life and on a day-to-day basis. As a young mother, there are always stereotypes I am trying to break, judgements I'm trying to reverse and opinions I'm trying to change. Never have I been so motivated yet exhausted trying to break all the rules that aren't right.

But in an effort to save my old self, I've decided to focus on my writing. It's really something I love and would like to be good at (yeah - how's that working out for you, English grammar person?). I don't have any funny stories off the top of my head to tell at this moment but I will give a short update which will be followed by a Mother's Day post.

Adventures of Brown:
I've still been sittin' here at work 8am-2pm working for the man (actually, woman) which is quickly trimming minutes off of my life span. Tomorrow is always more stressful than today and I'm always going to struggle with that. So until The Husband has a hit record, expect me to always scream about this place.
After 2pm, however, is my passion. I've increased my responsibility with Chicken's school and actually have a "title"; one I'm exceptionally honored to hold. Volunteering brings purpose to my day (you know - aside from being a mother and wife) and I look forward to being at school.
Chicken has made honor roll for the 3rd quarter this year. In Florida, you must take a standardized government test (Thank you, "No Child Left Behind") - 1st & 2nd graders take a test and 3rd - 5th take a test called something different but with the same results (you fail the test, you fail the grade). Anyway - Chicken scored the highest score in the school with 1st & 2nd graders. We're so thrilled (and I just cannot imagine where she gets all that intelligence from) and have rewarded her with many material things and a mini-vacation (bribe much?).
The Husband continues to tour the country on the weekends chasing that big musical dream. We love him anyway.

So - that's what's happening here. Thanks to my loyal reader for anxiously waiting for this post. Sorry I've disappointed you all (err - the one of you).

Connections

There's a house behind my office that's having an extension built on it. There was once a screened in porch which was broken, I assume, from Hurricane Wilma; left only with an aluminum frame. I would watch the owners sit on a porch swing and smoke butts and it was killing me. More than once I walked halfway across the parking lot to their yard wanting to ask "What are you going to do about this?"; I couldn't stand it, half destroyed. But I never made it there. How could they leave it like this? They have a dog, an old chocolate brown lab named Hershey who sometimes leaves piles of crap so big in our parking lot you'd think horses have come through. He's so big, stupid and sweet; he wonders around the yard and our lot, sniffing our dogs smells and I always watch him waddle back home. Anyway, a few months ago, they started construction. First, they took away that aluminum frame and jack-hammered the concrete floor. There were 4 workers at first and as usual, two guys standing around watching while the other two humped like camels. One of the men always working hard is an older black man. Perhaps in his mid-to-late 50's and seriously balding. I can't tell how tall he is from where I watch through my office window but he seems to be average height and thin. He's here nearly everyday; working through the wooden framing, electrical wiring, drywalling, installing windows and let me tell you, this man can stucco like no one's business. One day, I noticed a tree I hadn't noticed before; they have a banana tree and it was growing bunches and bunches of green bananas. I walked across to get a close-up view-how absurd I'd never seen bananas growing on a tree before. He watched me walk over and examine the tree but never said anything. You know how you can feel someone watching you? I felt that burning sensation as I walked back to my tiny office. He cannot possibly know I watch him work as the french, double paned windows are slightly tinted to filter out harsh Florida light. I must spend hours watching him work, fascinated by his determination, I know, to do a good job for these people. Several times a day, I go outside to smoke cigarettes, something I take great pleasure yet relish with guilt in. Every time, my friend stops working and puts down his tools to wave to me. I wave back. "Hello, my stranger friend!" I want to shout but have never spoken. The kind gesture moves me.

They've started painting today and I assume he'll go away soon as the end of this build out winds down. This man, whom I've nothing in common with; average, black, older and balding, working through hot sun and humid rain; a connection. My life blows by so fast and sometimes, if I'm lucky, I can grab hold of a branch and see the vivid colors around me. Like the bananas once green a perfect color yellow.

The mystery of people

I realize I'm not a "people person". I don't, in general, enjoy strangers. I love my friends, have a blast with acquaintances but I can do without strangers. I have a slight reputation for being "that bitch married to the Spacemen guy". I don't mean to come off so cross or unapproachable but that's just how I am. My feelings are always worn on my sleeve, for everyone to see. I say what I mean and I mean what I say. I don't do "fake" well. So you'll understand why I have such a problem understanding people different than myself.
I'm beginning to recognize behaviors in people (by that I mean friends, family and strangers alike) which I do not possess; specifically, manipulative personality. Let's go back, way back to my childhood. In the family I grew up in, there was no bullshit. If someone was upset about something, anything, we'd say it outright. "You're pissing me off because you did this, this and this." Lots of words were thrown around, our feelings were expressed and we cried a lot of tears. But then it was over. We'd get mad, yell and by the time we saw each other again, we're long over it. And more times than not, it was never brought up again because it was resolved from the get-go. It's my opinion that this method is the definition of fighting fair.
It seems that many people in my life have an agenda, an underlying tone and I'm having serious difficulty coping with it. Manipulative personality confuses me. If you have something to say, say it; please don't make an accusatory insinuation, refuse to clarify and not give me a chance to defend myself. If you're upset about something, let me know so I can fix it. I cannot figure out why people behave like this (I'm just a writer, I'm not a shrink, ok?), I'm sure it stems from their own childhood or whatever...quite frankly, I don't give a damn.
Luckily (?), I'm surrounded by manipulative people who are also honest in their faulty fighting strategies and they're helping me understand ways to embrace people with this difficult personality.
Do you have someone in your life who's especially challenged in this department? How do you deal with it? Are you one of those manipulative assholes...I mean, friends? Please, friends, help me. How can I work through this?

Vacation(s)

Ok, so, I'm going away on vacation next week and I'm sort of (read: completely) freaking out. I don't travel well and I haven't flown since 9/11. Not to mention, we couldn't get a direct flight to New England so it will be a 10 hour travel day. With a hypochondriac husband and whiny 6 1/2 year old. Oh fucking joy.
On the bright side, I've stocked up on medications such as Xanax and Valium.
Plus, I'll get to pick blueberries on real farms, have coffee and cigarettes in the mountains and visit with people I love the most. And 5 days with my family? I'm sure to return with some seriously funny writing material!
So, God, if you hear me, (no, it's not Margaret. It's Sophia. Remember me?) please, please make sure we arrive and return from our destination safely.
There! Positive thoughts put into the universe and whispered into God's giant ears. If you're the praying type, whisper some more for me, ok?


Much love, BITCHES!

The quest is finally over!

Prelude: This post is about boobs. My boobs.

I didn't develop at an unusual age-I pretty much blossomed right along with my friends. Except, my boobs kept getting bigger and didn't stop until after I had the Chicken. I always used to read about girls who had animosity towards their chest, I wouldn't describe my feelings as animosity. No, I loved my boobs. I embraced them and put them up on a pedestal (ha!). If they'd had Girls Gone Wild on South Beach when I was actually old enough to be on GGW, I would totally be in one of those videos right now. (The early stages of GGW, people! Not the gross versions now where girls are making out, naked in the shower.) For all the love I've had for my breasts, I hate bras. Rather, bras hate me. I've never found a bra to fit me properly. In fact, I'm not even sure of my own bra size!
Go for a fitting, you say? Yeah, can't do that. See, I have an adversity to strangers feeling me up. Oh sure, I've tried to have fittings but every time I go to the fancy department store (read: not Target), the boobie "specialist" was either "training" (which my boobs are not) or just plain creeped me out. My friend, Stacey, has gone bra shopping with me but finding a great bra is like finding the perfect pair of ass jeans. Just not happening for me. Instead of bearing through the dreadful fitting, I continue to buy cheap, ill-fitting bras from Target.
Until last weekend. I bought several cheap (read: clearance!) bras from Wal Mart (ha!) that actually fit. Ok, so they sort of enhance the back fat but that's no thing a little camisole can't conceal. This is big news, folks!
And even though I seem to have found the perfect bras, I know there's lots of you out there with similar issues. What do you do?

Happy Birthday, America!

I spent 6 hours cooking and cleaning for a (very, very) small gathering at our "crib" (I love ghetto) yesterday. Our guests included my mother and her "friend" Susan, Papi Gringo (also known as my wealthy, salsa dancing, Jewish-but-wants-to-be-Puerto Rican brother in law), Young Money (brother in law's 12 year old son who's voice is getting deeper as quick as he's becoming black) and our tiny little unit. It was nice. We had a lively debate about money and how it rates on the "happiness" charts, marriage and sex. You know, usual family discussions. (Oh, not your family? Well, welcome to mine.) We also watched comic Katt Williams-if you haven't seen him, try to youtube some of his stuff...especially if you love the ghetto-like me.

Now onto the real reason I'm writing today. I'm sad to tell you that, even though you've received little attention from me this summer, it's about to get a whole lot worse. Big Brother starts tonight and I've already got my live feeds going and basically, I'm a loser. But who asked you? Also, to my real life friends, please don't call me on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 8-10pm. Thank you.

Oh, you thought it was a little joke I was writing? I'm not. BB is very serious for me...no one in my house gets any play when I've got live feeds on. In fact, I have the most in-depth conversations only with my mother (a bigger BB fan than I) to discuss strategy & other BB house stuff. It might be pathetic but it's the only TV I'm serious about watching. Give a sister some slack, ok?