Our Middle

Suzi gave me a couple of books yesterday for inspiration and one of them is a book that the lady has all these questions that are supposed to make you "think" about stuff. For me, thinking is a simple process. I would MUCH RATHER think about something that has an answer. A problem with a solution - I might not know what the solution IS, but it's there and I can find it.

One of the questions reads: What is in between our inside and our outside? The answer comes to me instantly: our middle. Done. Now, if this person was before me, asking me this question, here is where she would start backpedaling. "No, ok, but - " or "All right, but - " or "That's not really what I meant" or on and on and on. People make up these things and inside their own head they sound so complicated. Then they put them out there in the world and they're like "Look how complicated I am. Look at the type of stuff I think up. Aren't I inspiring?"

And my own friends agree and think these people are inspiring. And they expect me to find this inspirational and "get me thinking" about what is between my inside and my outside. Well, I know the answer. My middle.

But I have something for you all to debate amongst yourselves. In New York, that little ball of fried dough that comes out of the middle of the donut, we call a "munchkin". That's what they are a Dunkin' Donuts. For us, it's like when you call a copy a "xerox" or a tissue a "kleenex". Here and in Florida, they call it a donut hole. Now, before you go talking smack about New Yorkers, I want you to think about this: holes are not balls. You can have a ball-shaped hole. But a hole, by definition, is an empty space. A hollowed place in something solid. An empty pit. Look it up.

On that note, here is a stamp I carved for our Soul Garden chatters yesterday:

I AM good enough

and so are YOU.

One of the girls in Suzi's newest class (Soul Garden) mentioned how she had done something at work that made her feel stupid and how she felt like everyone was talking about her and what she'd done. I've been there. Totally there. Paranoid. I know I'm paranoid, and I know that people really aren't that interested in me - certainly not interested enough to talk about. I also know that IN OUR MINDS we accuse people of doing things we would never do. Would you really laugh at a coworker for making a mistake? No. They're probably not laughing at you, either.

So I have a challenge. You ready? What I'd like is for you (yes, you) to reverse this thinking. Instead of shrugging off the good things you do every day and ruminating on the bad things, celebrate the good things. Today I did NOT lock myself out of my apartment!! Today I did NOT spill tea when I poured it!! Today I did NOT burn the cupcakes I baked!! Today I did NOT forget to brush my teeth!! Fuck yeah! I'm on a freaking roll!!

Wanna hear about the rest of my day? Mini and I walked to Target (it's 1.5 miles) and I didn't wear a bra. I ate a good breakfast but a crappy lunch. I printed a bunch of pictures to put around the huge canvas if the twins stadium I bought for my husband's birthday. I made a few journal cards. I let my computer die. I called my brother to check on my sister-in-law. I put one friend in touch with another who needed her. It's nearly 5pm and I haven't showered. I have homework that isn't done, and finals I haven't studied for, but I'm going to spend some time painting with my son instead - because it makes me happy and him happy. I'm AWESOME. Why do I let myself forget that? Why do I let SOMEONE ELSE decide that I'm not awesome? Why on earth would I believe them??

A Visitor

First, rest assured that none of the people mentioned here, nor anyone connected to them, read this blog.

I love my husband's father. BUT. Something I've noticed about most people is they simply don't give a shit about anyone but themselves. I met a new friend for coffee this morning, came home at noon, and he and Liam had been playing video games the ENTIRE time I was gone. Fine. FIL doesn't know how to entertain a five-year-old. No problem. I make Liam stop after another hour and ten minutes. I feed him - he hasn't eaten anything and now it's after one pm.

FIL goes outside to smoke, I turn the Wii back on, meaning to put on Bones or Law & Order or something just to be in the background of my day. He comes back inside while I'm making a sandwich and puts on a movie - one that is NOT appropriate for kids, and one that I have NO INTEREST in watching. Without a word, he just takes over like he owns the place.

I HATE THIS KIND OF MENTALITY. This is why I don't like being around other people. It doesn't occur to him AT ALL that he is one of THREE PEOPLE in the house. He is a GUEST, which to me means you ASK before doing something. But it just doesn't occur to him.

So, now I have to do my homework and get ready for school tonight with this movie giving me a migraine because he watches TV ridiculously loud. It's seriously hurting my ears right now. It's so hard for someone like me - who is ALWAYS conscientious of the fact that I'm not the only person on the planet - to be around people who are SO ridiculously unaware. Because it's not a matter of "Geez, Goog, you could just say something." Of course I could. It's a matter of HAVING TO. Why should I have to constantly remind people that they are NOT the only person who matters? Why should I have to assert myself IN MY OWN HOME? Why should I have to tell my son's grandfather that this is an inappropriate movie for HIS GRANDSON?

To me, THIS IS COMMON SENSE. Everyone thinks they are the one who has common sense and that nobody else does, but tell me - would it really not occur to you that a PG13 movie is maybe not OK for a super sensitive five-year-old? And now FIL is snoring ridiculously loudly - so I'm going to be tortured with this stupid movie and he's not only going to sleep through it, but also add to the noise level? I might kill someone before the week is over.

Things People Say

There are things that people's children say to my son that he finds confusing. Example: "watch out". Seriously, people - THIS is what you say to your kids instead of "excuse me"? Watch out? There was a little boy in the pool at the same time we were and he kept saying "Hey, kid, watch out!" and Liam didn't know he was speaking to him, because those simply aren't words he knows. We also don't say "look out" or "beep beep". How many people do you know how say "beep beep" to other humans but who have NEVER honked their car horn because "that's rude"? ADULTS who say this as if we were all Sesame Street characters? I'm not a muppet, and I have been known to say "Oh, did you mean 'excuse me'?"

Second: "huh?" How many times a day does someone look at you with that dumb, scrunched up, "I'm an idiot" face and say "Huh?" like you're the stupid one? My son says "I'm sorry, could you say that again?" or "I didn't understand what you said." Or something along those lines. If you give my son the idiot face and say "Huh?" he's probably just going to look at you, eyebrows raised, and wait for you to form intelligent words.

I'm in school with a girl who speaks like a thug. There is not a single word where she says "ing", it's always "in". As in "Where we goin' for dinner?" and "I was workin' all day." and "We were hangin' out." She slurs her words slightly, like she's too lazy to move her tongue. In spite of these things, she seems reasonably intelligent, gets relatively good grades, and will be competing with me for the same jobs in a year. Now, my work is better than hers, my portfolio is better than hers, and I can't help but listen to her talk and think "Why would someone hire her over me? She sounds like a gangster." Pretend it doesn't make a difference, but it does.

Would you say "watch out" to a stranger? A coworker? Your boss? If not, why would you say it to the people closest to you? Do you forget your pleases and thank yous when you're at Thanksgiving dinner with the family? How about Tuesday night on the couch with pizza? Every generation says the one after them is screwing up the world. Lately all we hear about is how rude and impatient children are. Guess where they learn that? Oh, yeah - right at the family table.

Ha! I typed this up a few days ago and was letting it settle a little before posting it. It's kind of angry, isn't it? And yet, true, so I'm posting it anyway.

Father's Day

I recently read a blog post by a man who went ON and ON and freaking ON about last names. His family's last name was changed at Ellis Island (who's wasn't?!?) and he kept talking about how it was something fathers pass down to their children and ESPECIALLY their sons how it was this wonderful thing and connected sons to fathers and honestly, I wanted to vomit.

A NAME does NOT make a father. Do people really not understand what Shakespeare was saying with his super famous rose quote: "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." Basically that means: get the fuck over what something is called. It doesn't mean anything except what we DECIDE it means. My last name comes from an Italian grandfather that I never met and a father who abandoned my brother and I when I was a child.


I KEPT my name when I got married. I didn't take my husband's name, because I believe, firmly, that my name is my own. Why would I change it? It has NOTHING TO DO with my father or his family. It is the ONLY thing he gave me. Is that really something a man is proud of? "Sure I have a couple of kids out there. Nope, haven't seen them in twenty-five years, didn't go to either of their weddings, and I'll never meet my grandkids, but hey, at least they have my last name."


My son has BOTH last names. Does that make my husband less of a father? He takes Liam fishing, to the park, to the movies, they're season ticket holders for the Twins, he feeds the kid, gives him baths, washes his dirty underwear and stuffs it in his drawers when it's clean, but dang it, if only he'd been more of an ass when we were filling out the birth certificate. Oh, wait - HE filled out the birth certificate because I was sleeping off thirty hours of labor.


So, to the people who think your name is more important than being there for your child - thank GOD you're not around filling your kids' heads with your dumb ass ideas. To the ones who wipe butts and noses and kiss booboos and drive to hockey practice before dawn - Happy Father's Day.

The Digital Age

It's the Digital Age, people, and it's time to jump on board. I LOVE technology. I love it. My computer is on my lap MOST of the time. I love instant gratification when I have a question, I love shopping online. I love digital cameras and I learning a new program. I have some programming knowledge and have created some simple programs. I've been a beta-tester for web sites and I've had an iPhone since 2009. I have Facebook and get a LOT of my family news that way, and have reconnected with friends that way. I share my son with my family on facebook and/or through email. The ONLY friends I've ever made as an adult, I met FIRST online and THEN in real life. My son uses my netbook to skype with my mom nearly every day. I send thousands of text messages a month. Thousands.

Anyway, this is supposed to be about this little device:

It's a Nook Simple Touch. I have one (and the original Nook). Now, LOTS of people are saying things like "Why would I want a device that only does ONE thing?" Oh, you mean like a camera that only takes photos? Or a phone that only makes phone calls?

The fantastic thing about this eReader is that it's not back lit like your computer screen is. It looks just like you're reading a book. It's not black and white, it's dark gray and off-white, like book pages. The print is NOT smaller than a book. The books I read on it are NOT of less value than if I was holding a piece of paper in my hand. HOWEVER - the books are CHEAPER, sometimes by $10 or $15, it holds THOUSANDS of them, unlike the five overcrowded bookshelves I have at home, I can check out library books and not worry about returning them late, AND when I travel I can take ALL of my favorite books with my. This thing is SMALL. I take it to school and read on my breaks, I take it with me pretty much everywhere. NO, it doesn't light up - neither does a book! I have a book light for it. There are no games or apps for this device. It doesn't play music or send text messages. It's JUST BOOKS. Why do little old men keep questioning this like I'm sitting playing angry birds for three hours? I'm READING with it, dudes. BOOKS. They don't like it because it's electronic? Seriously? How does that make any sense? I'm not trying to push you into buying the thing - I just want to stop defending myself for using it. I LOVE it.

Astounding Stupidity and Mother's Day

I am NOT my husband's mother. Nor am I the mother of any of my friends, cousins, aunts, uncles, or my parents. That DOES NOT MEAN that these people aren't going to call me and wish me a happy Mother's Day. I told my husband that since I squeezed a person out of my vagina I want chocolate for Mother's Day. Hubby is SUPER sentimental and sappy and he almost gave away his tickets to the Twins game on Mother's Day - I told him he was being ridiculous, that I would LOVE to be alone with copious amounts of chocolate on Mother's Day. (He's a season ticket holder, so it wouldn't have been a huge deal to give them away, but really, there was no need.)

Please feel free to copy and post this anywhere MEN might be reading it: Mother's Day is for mothers. ALL mothers. Not only YOUR mother, dumbass. The "You're not my mother" bullshit doesn't fly in my house. My stepdad celebrates MY mother on Mother's Day. She is not his mother. He wasn't married to her until my brother and I were both adults. She did NOT give birth to any children of his. He celebrates his mother, his sister, me. We're mothers. All of us.

There's the reason I get to celebrate Mother's Day right there!

Letting Go

I tossed and turned most of last night. I read, of course, and got up a few times to play on the computer. I'm not a good sleeper as it is, and when something is on my mind, it's worse. Something was bothering me last night and it was just looping around and around in my head. I get physically tense when I'm trying to sleep, too - I clench my jaw and my fists, and have to keep reminding myself to relax, relax, relax. So, last night I'm having a conversation with someone in my head - over and over. I'm rewording and figuring out how to say what I need to say without hurting anyone's feelings and it's 2am and finally I decide to just let it go. Let it go. Every single time someone irritates me does NOT have to be confrontational. And it was like a light switch. I instantly felt better. INSTANTLY. Peace. Like magic. It was very cool, and I was able to finish my book and go to sleep.

NaNoWriMo

Am I the only one who finds things like this? It's totally, 100% my fault - sometimes I scoop out a spoon full and then dip it in the M&Ms bag. This was the next day and I was making a sandwich - totally cracked me up. I'm an idiot! But I used it to make a sandwich. Peanut butter & nutella. Good times.

So, NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month. You're supposed to write, I think 1700 pages a day, every day for the month of November. I think it's an amazing idea. I often spend hours and hours sitting at my computer writing out the stories in my head. But you know what I think is ridiculous? NaNoJouMo - that's the art journal version of it. I'm a freak about things like this, I know, but National Novel Journal Month DOESN'T MAKE SENSE. NaJouWriMo - fine. But I absolutely HATE that artists who want people to follow their blogs and take classes from them can't even put together the simple English that could turn this into something that makes sense. I lose respect for people when I see things like this.

Oh, must I?

I hate when people talk about the way something MUST be. "Journaling on a scrapbook page is a MUST." Really? What's going to happen if I don't? What if I have nothing to say? What if looking at the picture is too painful for words and there are tears streaming down my face as I drag it onto the layout? What if I'm laughing to hard to type? Sometimes I journal on my pages. Sometimes not. Some thoughts are private! Scrapbooks are meant to be shared. There are no MUSTS in any kind of art, including scrapbooking. Just like people who will say I'm not a "real" quilter because I don't hand quilt. Guess what, asshole? I have nerve damage in my right arm. I'm left-handed, but you can't sew with just one hand. It takes both. Should I have to tell you that before you consider me a "real" quilter? No. Should I ever have to justify myself to someone else? No. Why do people feel like they get to make these kinds of stupid blanket statements like the world will come to an end if I don't jot down what's going on in this scrapbook page or if I use my wonderful Bernina to make my quilts instead of struggling to make a hand work that doesn't want to?

On that note, here is a random picture:

  

Wanna guess what they are?

A realization (warning: this it a rant)

I realized something about me today. One of the (many) reasons that I don't like people. First impressions. My son started school Monday. It's preschool, a program called "School Readiness" and he went last year, too. I love the program, I love his teacher, and last year I loved his bus driver. The man was always telling me what an amazing kid I had and what a great parent I must be. (Stop laughing!!)

You see where ALL those days say Pick-up at 9:24? I crossed out the top one and wrote 9:20 after my first encounter with her today. We went out to the bus stop at 9:22 and sat. Waited. When she finally came, LATE, she lectured me about how she'd already "left without him" and how if we're late she's not going to wait and blah, blah, blah - and then tells me I'm wrong, that my pick-up time is 9:20. No, bitch, it's not. CLEARLY someone's signals are crossed. Now - I feed my son more sugar than is healthy. I don't make him take a bath every single day. He often sleeps in a t-shirt instead of proper pajamas. Sometimes we have popcorn instead of dinner. I am NOT mother of the year. But you know what else I'm not? Late. Ever. I am NEVER late. Not for appointments, not for school, not for work, meetings, whatever the fuck I have to be at, I am ALWAYS ridiculously early. I'm the person who has to sit in their car for thirty minutes so they're not 45 minutes early for a job interview. Needless to say, I was pissed. I wrote her supervisor an email. THEN, even after I checked the transportation website and it said the busses were running on time, she dropped him off fifteen minutes late. That's a LONG TIME for a 2.5 hour school day. Here's the real kicker - she apologized to me and said that they switched Liam's pick-up time with another kid. Fine. But no one TOLD ME THAT. So guess what? Not my fault.

This one incident will leave a bad taste in my mouth about this woman. I will never like her. Because the first time I ever met her, she was disrespectful. Yes, she apologized. You know what? I don't think people get props for that. I think you should THINK about what you're about to spew onto somebody else BEFORE you let it fly. And if it's really necessary - then do it and you won't NEED to apologize. I won't apologize if she finds out that I complained about her. She deserved it. The pickup time screw up wasn't her fault - but it wasn't mine either, and she handled it badly.

THIS is my problem with people. You can't take back what you said. It's out there. An apology is not an eraser, it's a band-aid. I hate when my husband is an asshole and then apologizes. That doesn't change what happened. At all. It doesn't make me feel better. Apologies make the person ISSUING them feel better, NOT the mistreated person.