Don't You Mean Nightmare?

I'm guessing blogging angry isn't recommended. Right now I should go run a mile, take a hot bath, drink a glass of wine or even better, do all three. But instead, I think I'll exercise poor judgment and write some public hate mail to my enemy of the moment: fantasy football.

Dear "Fantasy" Football:

I'm not a fan. Actually I don't like you one bit. Here are the top three reasons I think you stink:

1.) You waste SO-O much time. Now not only does my husband want to check in on the Seahawks score, he wants to watch EVERY single NFL match possible so he can track the performance of his fantasy team. As the hours tick away every Sunday, I loathe you even more.

2.) You impair my husband's ability to communicate/engage with his family and friends. Not only does he not have much time for us because he is focused on the TV, if he is forced to talk to me, play with the kids, or go anywhere with friends, he will frequently check in with the fantasy football app on his phone. Nothing says "quality time" like sideways phone glances and endless rolling of the Blackberry trackball.

3.) What makes me hate you the MOST is the way you turn my funny, kind, smart, loving husband into a total Grump-a-saurus Rex! This is a game right?! I thought this was supposed to be something that is fun. You are not fun. For any of us.

So, F. Football, long-story-short, you certainly aren't MY kind of fantasy! If I could figure out how to kick you to the curb, I would do it in a heartbeat.

Resentfully yours,
Seattle Sun

Gratitude Schmatitude Part 2

Okay. So the Tiny Prints Gratitude Challenge is kicking my behind. Not only because writing something everyday is hard, but ALSO because most of the assignments are truly challenging (hmmm... maybe that is how they came up with the name) if I do them honestly. So honestly, some days I'm NOT very grateful.

Last week I got stuck on Day Nine: Enjoy the people around you. Take a moment to appreciate their unique talents, abilities and personalities. I was all geared up to complete the assignment at my god-daughter's birthday dinner. I was even going to take my camera and capture every grateful moment on film. Then come home and entertain the masses with my witty analysis of these people that I love. But before we left home on Thursday, Bea called to let me know her husband felt like he had the flu... and in the midst of swine-flu paranoia, we decided not to to go to the party. Boo. Oh well, I decided I would delay the assignment one day and appreciate my friend Polly and her new baby on Friday. But then she sent a text that they were sick too! Grr. How am I supposed to enjoy the people around me if I don't get to be around anyone?! (Lovely how I've made it all about me, heh.)

I know I could have, probably should have, spent time being grateful for my two angel kiddos and my handsome, loving husband. But instead, I've let myself be a grump and I've focused on my frustration about not being able to be with my friends. So today, I'm completing the assignment for Day Nine Point Five: Give yourself a break and then get over your grumpy self. Seriously.


PS - I "borrowed" the above photo of the adorable, yet grumpy carrot, from bbk bags on etsy. Check out her super cute handbags! She is very talented and she has the best birthday ever.

Gratitude Schmatitude

Since returning from Montana, I've been "down in the grumps." I called Bea and asked her to meet me at Frost Doughnuts thinking maybe a bacon maple bar would get out of my funk. We are going tomorrow so I'll let you know.  In the meantime I went to see my therapist and we discussed my dad's stroke, my mom's stress, my kid's whining and my disappointment over not being selected as a Verity Mom finalist.  Her recommendation?  Keep up with "self-care."  Umm, oooh-kay.  Easier said than done when you are a busy mom of little ones.  Does a really delicious gourmet doughnut count?  

So, I made plans for my husband and in-laws to give me some time off this weekend, found a babysitter for a grown-ups only dinner on Sunday and scheduled a massage for a week from now.  Still felt grumpy.  Called Moe, our angelic mother's helper and she came over and played with the little ones for a while.  She even picked up all the toys while she was here.  I was beginning to feel a little better.  Met my husband at the door and told him HE was taking the kids to dinner.  Hmm... this self-care business just might work!  I feel less grumpy already.  

A bowl of cold cereal and a half-hour of peace and quiet later, I found the final piece in my grump-banishment plan.  The Tiny Prints Gratitude Challenge.  I learned about it from my friend Kim, over at gratitude365.  She had already started the 21-day challenge and I felt encouraged when I read her posts.  And not only because I am included on one of her gratitude lists.  So I'm going to do it.  And today is my day #1.  The assignment for the first day is to write about why I accepted this challenge and what I hope to achieve.

I accepted this challenge because most of my thoughts today are about why I am NOT grateful:  There are dirty dishes in the sink.  A friend's father passed away yesterday after a long fight with cancer.  The kids broke our laptop this morning.  I could go ON and ON.  But it isn't helping to make a list of what stinks.  I need to shift my perspective.  I know there are hundreds of things that I can celebrate right now, even though it feels like an effort to come up with a list.  Thankfully, I don't need to make a list until tomorrow's assignment!  And what I hope to achieve is the strength to choose grateful.  Maybe not every single time, but more of the time and even when times are rough. I know the benefits will be worth the challenge.

Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

In addition to all my tension, worry, stress and upset because my dad is in the hospital recovering from a stroke (almost 1000 miles away), yesterday was stinky because:

Jeep broke a beautiful little dish that I brought back from Japan over ten years ago.

CeCe "the Destroyer" found (by getting past the kid-lock on the bathroom cupboard) and ruined my favorite lipstick. Lipstick under tiny fingernails is OH SO fun to clean up!

My mom (understandably) had a huge emotional breakdown.

Mother Nature brought me a "gift." (Let's pretend I didn't just write that.)

More great moms applied to be the Verity Mom. Including a professional blogger. She probably has a clean house and nice handwriting too. Grrr.

My husband got a speeding ticket. Okay, that was actually a couple of days ago, but I was still really mad about it yesterday.

Jeep whined. CeCe fussed.

And some other stuff. That I can't think of today. But it sure seemed like a really bad day. Except for the moments when it didn't. Like when we took a walk as a family to the local park. And during the phone calls from dear friends who wanted me to know they love me and are thinking of me and my family. And when my husband put the kids to bed so I could go to the gym. And when I was eating the brownie sundae I made when I got home.

So maybe it wasn't exactly a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. But I hope today is better.

Even Prisoners Have Book Readings

This post was originally posted on Blog Mamas on July 3rd, 2006.

In April my friend Bea invited me to a book reading with Anne Lamott. She had arranged for a family member to watch her kids and was looking forward to time off, spiritual intellectualism and a few laughs. My only experience with Anne Lamott was a quick skim of “Operating Instructions,” but listening to an author who has wrestled (somewhat irreverently as I recall) with both mothering and faith appealed to me.

I work a demanding job in addition to the demands of motherhood. I feel caught in the stereo-typical “mommy wars” - judged for working by friends, family and strangers who are/were “stay-at-home” mothers and also pressured by society and economics to be a successful professional woman. So when I read about Lamott online, I was drawn to the description of Anne “exhorting readers to go easy on themselves and with each other.” I look forward to hearing “essays that are howlingly funny mini-sermons” and a “quirky, funny perspective [that is] nothing short of a salve for tired souls.”

The day of the event I realize I haven’t confirmed that my husband can pick up our son so when I learn he has to work late, I’m disappointed . I call Bea and tell her I’m tempted to bring Jeep and stay until he cries. She encourages me to try it and agrees to get there early to save us a place.

Jeep (10 months old at the time) is in a good mood and flirts with Bea as the crowd files in. There is no cry room so we sit in the back row near the hallway. Anne reads about Easter and cancer and it is as funny and poignant as I had hoped. Jeep giggles when anyone laughs at Anne’s wisecracks and turns with wide eyes every time the audience applauds. How refreshing to stretch my mind and soul while sitting on the floor with my wiggly, happy son! Although on occasion he spouts baby gibberish, I feel relieved and grateful to have the best of all worlds.

After reading, Anne takes comments and questions from the audience. While she tries to come up with an answer to “How do you connect with Christians in red states?” a gray-haired curmudgeon from two rows ahead turns to glare at me. “Get that kid out of here!” he barks. I’m caught off guard for a moment, then retreat to into the hall with bouncy babe in arms.

From the lobby I listen to a woman describe how "Operating Instructions" helped her get through life after the birth of her son. My eyes fill with tears that don’t stop. I return to the auditorium and whisper good-bye to Bea. She helps shove gear into the diaper bag and whisks me outside where she offers sweet words and hugs.

I cry on the drive home as Jeep chatters about the passing trees, cars and whatever else occupies the mind of a pre-toddler. Some tears are angry tears at my husband for having to work late, some are frustrated tears for the man who couldn’t relax and hear the wisdom of a writer/mother because he was too distracted by a few happy sounds from a baby, others are tears of embarrassment because I should have known not to bring a baby to a book reading.

Then I recall a recent NPR program about authors hosting book readings in a women’s prison. Sound like a good program, but what about moms? Like many parents, I struggle to juggle a life that includes a kid and society’s expectations and norms. The lines are fuzzy and I don’t always know where to comply and where to protest. And while I believe it is perfectly fair to ban babies from symphony concerts, I also believe that grumpy old men should be banned from Anne Lamott book readings.