Well, Here Goes Nothing

I've been thinking about something all day. I even found myself wanting to write about it a few times, but kept telling myself that it wasn't a good idea. It still probably isn't a good idea, but, I don't know. I don't have a point to any of this. I don't have an ending. I'm not looking for sympathy or any comments really. In fact, I sort of hate sympathy. Being on the receiving end, that is. I'm just at a place where the shell of my life looks fine, but inside I'm tied in knots. I've never been capable of successfully and eloquently expressing myself, so I sense that I'm going to write a bunch of poorly punctuated run on sentences. You know, like every other blog post I publish. I like consistency. Consistency is the one thing I can manage successfully.

The thing is, I'm such a mess. This isn't news to anyone, I'm sure. However, anyone who reads this might be tempted to approach my mother on the street and say, "Nancy, you've got to get this girl some help. I know a guy, I'll give you his card. " Heck, someone might pull Craig aside and offer him a prescription of Prozac to slip in my green smoothies. I'm not in need of a visit to the shrink, I promise you. I'm just sort of, um, bogged down by some inner demons. And completely incapable of finding anything good in me. To me, this isn't a problem requiring psychoanalysis and happy drugs.
I'm convinced that it's a congenital flaw. I got the big nose, freckles and poor self esteem in the gene pool lottery.

I don't understand how a healthy child born to parents who were married before she was born and have been married ever since could wind up with such horrible self esteem. I wasn't beaten. I wasn't neglected or abused. I was loved and brought to church every Sunday for all of my childhood. Nothing in my history would suggest that low self esteem and self worth would even be a consideration. We were a "normal" family. I put normal in quotes because we Kennedy's are hardly "normal" but when talking about socioeconomics etc, we were indeed normal. Two kids, two cars, a few stray pets. Hardworking dad. Long suffering wife. Ha! Just kidding, mom.

What kind of person could dislike herself so much, when she really has it pretty good. I'm healthy, strong and smart. My common sense level varies from day to day, but overall I have a good head on my shoulders. I have a relatively successful marriage (we haven't killed each other yet...successful, no?) (That was a joke, by the way. I'm like Chandler Bing, I make inappropriate jokes) and a healthy, thriving and happy child. We're not in debt, we don't live paycheck to paycheck, I have the wonderful opportunity to stay home and do the housewifey things that I love so much and I have lively green walls. Most importantly, I have a God who loves me.

What more could a person want?

Every now and then I inventory my life and see that all the important boxes are check marked. I don't lack anything. And yet, just yesterday I bent down to get a towel from under the sink to wipe up some sort of spill and a swell of sadness wafted over me. It was if I was thinking, "so, THIS is my life."
But this is the life I want. I feel stupid and selfish for complaining when so many people are truly suffering and I "have it all."

I do have it all.
How can someone so physically strong be so weak, self loathing and immobilized by fear?

I'm sure my mom would be the first to point out that perhaps it's a lack of God in my life, but God is still there and I've felt like this my entire life. Even when I actually went to church and read my Bible. It's not HIM, it's ME.

All ME.

Because, it is, after all, all about ME.

For as long as I can remember, I've, on occasion, pretended to be someone else. NOT like Sybil; I'm not talking mulitple personalities here. I don't hear voices, I promise you. I'm talking about good old fashioned imagination; an escape from the monotony of my life. I don't imagine myself in a different setting, but that I'm an entirely different person. Someone with flawless skin and hair that styles perfectly and effortlessly every day. Someone confident and capable, who didn't drop out of college. Someone without stretch marks and not addicted to Diet Pepsi. Someone warm and fuzzy, not cool and reserved like me.

Basically, my polar opposite.

It's fun to imagine; it's an escape and makes my life seem a tad more interesting.
But it's still empty.
Because it's not true.
In the end, I'm still me. Boring and neurotic. Quick tempered and judgemental. Afraid and closed up. And never believing that I do anything right.

Now that I typed that ,I must assure you that I'm really not crazy. I think I just have too much time on my hands.

Even though I know deep down that I have done many things right, I still question every one of them. I haven't a confident bone in my body. Like I missed the day where they handed out the manual for living a normal life and have been trying to wing it for the past 32 years.
I second guess every decision I make and get mad at myself for every little mistake I make. Like when I wash the floor and I still can't get all the spots up. Everyone else can, why can't I? Floor washing, especially with a Swiffer Wet Jet, is pretty elementary. Yet, I end up with smudges and spots and declare myself a floor washing failure.

God, that sounds so dumb. It IS dumb, I know.
See, I told you this doesn't make any sense.

The second guessing and self loathing goes much deeper, I promise.
You just don't want to hear about it.

I don't know.
I don't think there is a self help book in all of the world that will rid me of this.
I don't want to be unhappy. And on many days I'm not.
Like I said, I have it pretty good.

Maybe I need a friend. I wouldn't share any of this with them, however. It's far easier to type this and make it accessible to the internet at large then to confess any of this to an actual person.
I prefer much shallower topics of conversation with friends: reality tv, food, shopping.

Eh, maybe I'm just having a bad day. Or week.

I can't undo what I've done. There isn't an eraser big enough to remove all the mistakes I've made.

It's hard to look at myself in the mirror and know that this is who I am supposed to be. This is the messed up person God created and I'm stuck with it.
I know there are plenty of things I can change, but it's hard to pull myself from the wreckage I've spent my whole life accumulating. It's heavy and haunting.

And in the end, I'm still me. I guess that's OK. God saw fit to create me , so either He's having a good laugh right now or He's preparing me for something more worthwhile.

I really hesitate writing this and actually hitting the publish button. Mostly because if I do, my parents will read this and freak out. But the truth is, none of this is new. I normally put a different spin on things, poking fun at myself and my neurotic, self loathing tendencies instead of writing about them in a more serious fashion. I use self deprecating humor as a defense mechanism. I'd hate for people to think that I find myself completely acceptable. If they thought that, they'd think I was delusional.

Some people have naturally high self esteem; sometimes it's completely warranted. I admire those that talk a big talk and prove it through actions. I envy it too.
And then there are those that talk a lot of smack and don't follow through. That makes me wonder. Perhaps they've been force fed all that PC "yay for you" stuff that the parenting magazines and school systems have been preaching for so many years.

"Yay, you walked across the room without falling down, here's a sticker."

While perhaps I would have benefited from at least a smidgen of that curriculum, I'm glad I'm realistic. I certainly don't want to have low self esteem AND be delusional. I have my work cut out for me as it is.

So, mom and dad, don't worry. I'm just having a bad day. Or week. Or something.

In conclusion, I'm still a big mess. I didn't solve a single thing, but I feel a little better.

So thanks for listening.

Welcome To My World

So the weather was forcasted to be ugly today. Overcast, wet, stormy, rainy. Clearly, not desirable summertime weather.


It's raining lightly now, but for most of the day it was just overcast.
Since overcast skies are not ideal for a trip to the pool we stayed home. Earlier there were six kids here playing Mario Party on the DS and then they moved downstairs to play Mario Kart on the Wii.



Two of the rugrats went home, leaving the remaining four to destroy my house. Evidently they constructed houses for their Webkinz. I overheard someone say something about getting a litter box for her Webkinz, but I didn't investigate any further. Sometimes I'd really rather just pretend they're not up there demolishing all of our earthly possessions.











Guilty person #1



Guilty persons #2, #3 and #4.

I kept their faces hidden to protect the innocent.

Oh, who am I kidding, they're not innocent. They're all hoodlums. Especially the girl in the middle. The one with her number sticker from the gym daycare still affixed to her back.
She's the worst of them all!

I Was Right, the Apple Really Does Not Fall Far From the Tree

Yesterday I claimed that Caroline's attraction to cups, mainly cups belonging to other people, was clearly inherited from her father, the undisputed King of Multiple Cups.
Well, the apple tree must be a duplex, because that poor child of mine has inherited some of my special, um, quirks. She doesn't look like me. She's an extrovert; I'm an extreme introvert. She's tall and lanky; and I'm, um, not. We're exact opposites on so many levels, but that kid of mine has inherited some of the crazy from me. Thankfully not a whole lot of crazy, but just enough to make me feel responsible.

Like her mother, Caroline is a quite the stickler for rules.
She gets so bunched up when the rules are broken. We're talking full on freak out when the kids at her lunch table get rowdy. Poor thing. Of all the traits to inherit from me, this is what she gets. I suppose she should be thankful she didn't get my prominent nose as well.

Now, I realize that this isn't a terrible thing. I'm glad she finds abiding by preset rules extremely important. However, when I find my uptight and rule abiding self telling Caroline to lighten up, you just have to wonder.

Today we went back to Pirate's Cove. Last week at the field trip, all of the first and second graders (excluding those on a swim team) were given a red bracelet. The red bracelet signified that they could only stay in the shallowest portion of the pool. No deep end swimming or diving board privileges. Caroline is a decent swimmer, but not on a swim team. She was clearly miffed and slightly embarrassed by the red bracelet. I promised her that I'd take her back another day so she could swim in the deeper water.

And today was that day.

I had planned on packing a frugal and healthful lunch and heading to the water park after the gym. However, Craig brought both of our coolers with him to Florida, so instead of packing a lunch, we went to McDonald's. It's the thought that counts, right? I just couldn't be bothered with finding an alternative lunch holder; I'm allowing my brain to go on vacation a few days early.

After we fueled up, I got a refill on my large diet Coke and off we went.

We arrived at Pirate's Cove, paid our admission fee and went to find a chair.
Pirate's Cove has a designated eating area with picnic tables, but they also allow food by the lounge chairs that are placed along the perimeter of the pool. There is a black line painted on the concrete and food and drinks are not to be consumed in front of the line.
Well, as I was holding the bulky eighty pound pool bag and my large diet Coke, I accidentally crossed over the black line, bringing my drink with me. Let me tell you, that just ate Caroline up.
"Mom, no food over the black line."
"Mom, your drink is over the black line."
"Mom, YOUR DRINK IS OVER THE LINE!!!"

Sheesh.

That's when I, the original uptight ruler follower, amused by the irony, told my little spawn to lighten up.

Again, I'm glad she's not a hoodlum.
I'm glad that she's never a behavior problem. I'm glad she respects the rules.

I'm just relieved she still sits in the back seat and doesn't have a clear view of my speedometer.
As it is, she's already a nagging back seat driver.

Out of the Mouths of Moms

Prior to welcoming Caroline into the world, I prepared myself for the joys and worries that awaited us. Becoming wise to the task at hand. I don't live in a dream world; I knew that parenthood presents many challenges. I'm not one to toot my own horn, but, yep, I was right to be prepared for the inevitable trials.
I guess one of the things that caught me off guard was the fact that some pretty strange things have come out of my mouth in every day conversation. Things I never thought I'd say. Things that seemed perfectly sensible at the time, but upon further analysis sounded kind of bizarre.

As I sit here writing this, presumably enticing you with some of the humorous statements that have graced my lips, I'm drawing a complete blank. I really wish I could name some things, but I, well, doh!
Just know that I'm not kidding, moms say some pretty strange things.

"Get a tissue instead of wiping your nose on the curtains, please."

"Why, at the age of four, are you licking the shopping cart handle?"

"Please take your hand out of that man's cup; if you want some ice, just ask mom."

"Don't swipe straws from people's drink cups."

"Don't take a drink from a random cup you found on the shelf at Old Navy."

What's with Caroline's cup fascination? It must be true that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree because her father is king of cups. Multiple cups. And bottles. Which, by the way, DRIVES ME INSANE. I'm not kidding, he usually has two cups by the bed and several scattered between the computer desk, the kitchen counter and this little microwave stand turned vitamin basket holder. Cups everywhere. He's one thirsty dude. Or blind and unable to locate the dishwasher. The jury is still out on that one.

I'm a cup vulture; I spy an empty cup or one that has been stagnant for too long and swoop it up. It's placed in the dishwasher and the house is once again restored to my desired clutter free state (excluding the ever present Lego explosion in the living room). Incidentally, my swooping bugs Craig as much as his multiple cup collection bugs me.

Now, where was I?

Oh yes, the strange things moms say.

A little earlier I was outside, putting the garbage and recycling out, watering the plants and pulling some weeds. Caroline and her friends had been playing with a sprinkler at another kid's house, but moved over to our house and hijacked my hose. Eh, no biggie, I was done.
I laid out some rules: don't spray me, don't spray the cars that drive by, keep the hose out of the street, don't spray anyone who doesn't want to be sprayed and turn the water off when you're done.

I turned around to do something and overheard one of the kids daring another one to put the hose in his shorts. This prompted me to yell, "no hoses in your pants, please."

Oh dear. I really never thought I'd have to say that.
I hope the neighbors didn't hear me.

Because I Always Make Good On My Promises

And because Caroline will make sure of it, especially when the promises concern her and the acquisition of more goods.

We bought Caroline a highly asked for and muchly coveted Nintendo DS for Christmas. As I suspected, she played with it for fifteen minutes, stashed it away, and then asked to go outside. I wasn't surprised by her behavior because that's pretty customary with her.
She's a people person. An extrovert to the core.
Things just aren't any fun unless you've got someone to use them with.

That's her major case for having a sibling. My rebuttal, of course, is that her potential little brother or sister will take everything from her and drool on it or flush it down the toilet. Not nearly as much fun as she imagines.
But that's not really the point.

The DS stayed stashed away for quite awhile. It made it's return to the surface from it's resting place in the depths of a dresser drawer a few times, but not for long.
However, quite recently the whole neighborhood gang, equipped with DS' of their own started their own little DS gang. Yesterday there were 8 kids, all with their own DS, playing in my basement. It was hot out, so I didn't mind too much. Normally I'd prefer that they get outside and play, but they weren't throwing things or breaking anything and they didn't ask for a snack, so I happily hid upstairs and let them play until their hearts were content.

Caroline has two DS games, but she really only plays with one, entitled Cooking Mama.
All the kids sync their devices together and play other games, but she's getting a little bored with what she has when she's playing alone. And, as you know, we can't have a bored Caroline.

The other kids have copious amounts of games. They each also have a whole menagerie of Webkinz. I try to keep toys to a minimum because in all honesty Caroline doesn't play with them. She has grown to adore the Webkinz, but I'm trying to convince her that she doesn't have to compete with the other kids and try to attain the same level of Webkinz ownership that they do.
It's a hard sell.

So a few weeks ago I promised Caroline that we'd get her a new DS game before our trip to Hershey. You know, so hopefully she'll be totally engulfed in the game, so engulfed in fact, that instead of inquiring about our mileage status every 6.8 seconds she'll remain focused on Mario Party.
Eh, it's possible, but not highly probable.
Other than the repetitive mileage check, we do have fun trying to locate as many different state license plates as possible. Our trip to Williamsburg provided quite a few license plate sightings, but the pacific northwest and upper midwest were sorely under represented. Perhaps some families from Oregon, Wyoming and North Dakota will make their way to Hershey, PA next week.

Gah, I'm wordy today.

As it so happens, today is the highly anticipated DS game purchase day. We're headed Target in just a few minutes.
And Caroline is excited.

And standing over my shoulder wondering when I'll stop typing.
Guess that's my clue to get moving.

Confession Time

This is where I bare my soul, unloading my deepest, darkest innermost secrets to the internet.
Or, more precisely, this is where I confess my egregious child-feeding sins.

For the past three nights Caroline has eaten macaroni and cheese and chicken nuggets for dinner.
There, I said it.

Typical kid food, yes.
Easy to prepare, yes.
Wholesome and balanced, weeeeelll, not really.

In all honesty, the macaroni and cheese started out as organic. My intentions were pure, I promise. I opened the box of Annie's mac and cheese, added the pasta to the boiling water and then discovered that the powdered cheese sauce was as hard as a rock. With the expiration date looming, and being the neurotic expiration date nazi that I am, I chucked the packet (when in doubt, throw it out) and grabbed a cheese packet from another box. You know, the "blue" box kind.
At least the noodles were organic. Can't say the same for the powdery unnatural orangey cheese-like packet product.

And, she did have steamed broccoli as a side dish.
Broccoli is good.

Except I ran out of broccoli tonight, which led me to search the pantry and open a can of corn.
Easy, yes.
Tasty, yes.
Nutrient dense, eh, not so much.

Looking at her plate with the neon orange mac and cheese, processed chicken-like nugget product and the corn made me feel like a bad mom. A lazy mom, uninterested in concocting a dinner that required a whole lot of thought. A mom serving her child a sad monochromatic meal.
The ketchup added a nice splash of color, I must add. Yep, a high fructose corn syrup laden color splash.

I used to buy organic ketchup to help eliminate some of the guilt of feeding my kid food that requires ketchup as a dipping sauce. That is, however, until Craig declared that the organic stuff was inferior to his beloved Heinz.
You know, I've known this guy for almost fourteen years. I know how he likes his hamburger and Subway sub and his favorite ice cream at Baskin Robbins. And yet, he still remains a mystery in some respects. I've bought MANY bottles of ketchup throughout our marriage and very few of them were actually Heinz. I mostly buy Hunts because it is generally cheaper, which as you may have guessed, guides many of my purchase making decisions.

Just recently we had a very important and deeply meaningful conversation regarding ketchup. As it turns out, Craig has preferred Heinz all this time, but never said anything. Nothing declaritive, anyway. He actually prefers packet ketchup, which I think is nasty. Too tinny. This wasn't some sort of explosive confession; Craig hasn't passive-aggressively harbored any hatred towards Hunts, or me for that matter, all these years. And he never gave me the stink eye when I plopped the bottle of Hunts on the table because, quite obviously, the brand of ketchup in our refrigerator hardly warrants bad behavior and hissy fits.

We had a civil discourse.
But afterwards I vowed, as an act of wifely kindness, to always buy Heinz, because I'd hate to deny him his truest ketchup love. He's already denied so much, as it is. Besides, what's a few more cents added to our already astronomical grocery bill going to do?

You know, Heinz actually offers an organic variety. I may have to slowly wean him off the HFCS laden stuff and get him hooked on the evaporated cane syrup kind instead.

I can do the old switcheroo buy refilling the old Heinz bottle with the organic stuff. Just like our moms did when they refilled the name brand Honey Nut Cheerios box with the generic "honey nut oaties."

Nah, he'd figure it out.
And I'm not that sneaky.

Lady Gaga would not be proud, because you definitely can read my poker face.

Drawing A Big Fat Blank

I really have nothing of interest to blog about. Not that anything I usually write is interesting, but just work with me.
It's been a pretty uneventful few days. Well, not uneventful, but not interesting and most certainly not blogworthy.
Every time I write the word "blogworthy" I think of the "spongeworthy" episode of Seinfeld.

You know, every time I start a post like this, claiming the well of interesting blog topics has dried up, I end up blathering on for several paragraphs. Only I can turn nothing into a wordy load of drivel. It must be a gift.

Anyhoo, as you can tell by the fact that I'm posting something new, Craig and I survived our chaperoning adventure. It really wasn't that bad. I figured that with the lack of chaperones, we'd each get our own group of kids, but, to my surprise they gave us only five kids total, Caroline included. Four of the kids were wonderfully behaved, but we also managed to be stuck with the up and coming poster child for ADD. And no, I'm not kidding, or exaggerating even a little bit. This kid was completely incapable of staying still, remaining with the group or following the simplest of commands. It's a really good thing that Caroline is well behaved because my patience level for uncooperative children is ultra low. I didn't go ape crazy on the kid, but I was glad when we made it back to the school. The camp counselors and life guards really earned their money that day.
As luck would have it, we also were grouped with the clingiest little girl I've ever met. Here's a little factoid about me: I don't do clingy. I don't like to hold hands and I don't like kids hanging all over me. Especially kids that aren't mine.
However, on the flip side, I love babies and don't mind holding them at all.
At first this little girl, Emily, leeched onto me immediately. She sat as close to me as possible, held my hand and wouldn't go anywhere without me. Thankfully that only lasted until we got to the water park and she met up with a friend of hers. Instant relief. I admit, she was sweet, but I need a little space.

Craig drove his merry way down to Florida yesterday to visit with his mom. Here's another factoid about me: I don't do long car trips unless Uncle Sam makes us. However, no offense to Caroline, but if she weren't around, I'd jump at the idea of a road trip. There is something about traveling with a kid that makes the idea of being cooped up in the car for 13 hours seem less than desirable.
While I admit that her temperament in the car has gotten better over the years, she's not a big fan of car travel and isn't afraid to let us know. She's also a number monster and has to know exactly how many miles we've traveled and how many miles are left every 3 minutes. Admittedly, it's a good brain workout, but a little tiring after the first hour or so.

Two years ago we traveled from Georgia to Arkansas to see Craig's Grandma. We then drove south to Texas to visit my friend and then drove from Texas back to Georgia.
Yikes.
That was one long road trip. We survived, but that's something I wouldn't volunteer to do again.

Maybe when the kid is older.
Or out of the house.

It we weren't going on vacation with my parents next week, I might have felt led to bind up Caroline, secure a big wad of duct tape for her mouth and hop in the car with Craig. But, well, that would mean three trips in as many weeks. More than Caroline and I are willing to handle.

So, instead, we're at the homestead. Doing what we always do.
Play, snacks, pool.
It's good to be a kid, huh? Especially a kid with a mom at her beck and call.

Although, she was a little miffed that I wouldn't let her sleep with me last night. She has gotten into the habit of falling asleep in our bed. When Craig gets home from work, he carries her into her bed. This isn't a huge deal, but she's 51 inches tall, just a little over a foot shorter than me. I cannot easily pick her up anymore. It's awkward and I usually end up hitting her head on the door frame. Not wanting to give her a concussion, I told her "no way Jose." So she said, "you don't have to pick me up, I can sleep with you the whole night." Oh, no.
Here's another factoid about me: I LOVE sleeping alone. I sleep so much better. The Army has kept Craig home for quite some time, so I haven't had an opportunity to sleep alone in a long while. There's no way I'm letting a squirmy kid ruin my sleep bliss.

She pouted for a little bit, but I don't bend. Sure I'll chaperone her field trip, bring her friends to the pool with us and feed snacks to the entire neighborhood, but I have to draw the line somewhere.

This morning I'm using my position as the adult, you know the one in charge who isn't seven, to drag bring Caroline to the gym with me. It's only for an hour, but a MUCH needed hour. The way I see it, I'm doing her a favor. I could have brought her with me yesterday at 8am. Today's class is at 10am.

See how nice I am.