The year of me

When I was 12 my mom was admitted to the hospital. Diagnosis -- exhaustion. At 29 I'm already starting to see signs of how much I'm like my mother. I like to please people and make things easier for them. It's what makes me great at my job, but also what is leading me down the path my mother forged before me. While most people have a grey area between wants and needs, I have a line in the sand, and everything can be placed on one side or the other. Because of this, everyone else seems to have so many needs that my very few shortly loose their priority, but not their importance. I'll still get to them, but they'll have to wait. It's easy to dismiss your priorities when they're pushing you into an area of challenge. "Oh I can't make it to the gym today because I had to stay late to help the boss, and the dogs need to be let out of their crates." "No, I didn't get a chance to study my photography book because the laundry and dishes needed to be done."

I see it happening more and more and am feeling the drain already. I still enjoy doing all these things for people to help them out, but find that the I either forget to etch out some time for just me or actually manage keep to it. As much as I love my husband and spending time with him is a truly relaxing end to the day, it's still not me time. It's still not me focusing on what I want to do and how to do it. It's still not making them wait for what they "need" so that I can get a little of what I want.

On that note, I'm declaring this the year of me. I know this mindset won't come any easier once children are involved so I need to learn the discipline and set the standard now. It's important that I learn to do this. Both for the balance of my marriage, and the future example I hope to set for my children. And surprisingly, the more I type, the more this sounds like the year of them. What can I say. I'm not going to stop doing something solely for me just because it throws a positive out to the ones I love. That's just bonus.

When I grow up, I wanna be a ...

...doctor
...lawyer
...author
...photographer
...well paid housewife

And most recently...retired.

The truth is I really don't know what I want to do when I grow up. Every time I think I have an idea I quickly find a list of reasons it is equally as terrible as it is great. Doctors and lawyers? Way too much school. Author? I can barely lie, let alone tell a story. Photographer? It would definitely be cool, but man will that take a lot of ambition. Well paid housewife? Did I hear The Real Housewives of DC was coming to town?

Something about getting older and approaching being a grownup for more years than you've been a kid makes you take a good look at where you are in life. Is this where I thought I'd be. HELL NO! That's not to say I'm not happy. In the original "plan" I'd be pregnant with #2 by now and lord knows what I'd be doing as far as work. No thank you. Ask me again in a year if I'm ready to think about #1.

What I do know is that I want my kids to be proud of me. Hell, I want me to be proud of me, and right now I feel like I'm falling short. I'm not living up to my potential and seem to keep making excuses why not. I don't want to be one of those people that looks back when they're older and can only see the missed opportunities. I know that life is short, and my biggest fear isn't being forgotten, but not having done something to be remembered.

When I grow up, I want to be remembered.

Small acts of kindness pay heftily in husband points

Most of the time I would bet money that as I'm rambling out ideas I'd like to do around the house, or reasons why I can't do certain things, my dear husband has his earmuffs on blocking out the oncoming honey-do list. It's the other times that I'm happy not to be a gambler because that's when he invites his alter ego Super Clint over to remind me how awesome he is and that he can in fact multi-task.

Just this weekend I was mentioning how the office was still really a mess and that I had cleaned as much as I could, but that the rest of the "stuff" was his to decide on. I may have also mentioned wanting to get my desk setup with my photo HD attached to the laptop and the photo printer installed. And that running the wireless modem through the bedroom closet and out through the office closet would be a good idea and allow us to hardwire into the modem when we're getting a crappy connection. All of which I was sure to be soaring to the top of that honey-do list...right behind mowing the lawn and going to dinner with the in-laws.

Much to my surprise the dear man was listening and taking notes. He setup my desk with the laptop, printer, and hard drive. Cleaned out three of his boxes and took them down to he garage for trash day. And did in fact wire the modem through the closet so that we could get faster connections when needed. I in no way expected him to get all of it done, but it was nice to see how much time and effort he put in to make me happy. On the other hand, it could also be his way of eliminating excuses as to why I'm not working on my photos.

Well played sir.

Better late than never

And in late breaking news, it appears that I actually do remember my password to blogger and will not turn to stone if I get on the computer at home. Seriously though, I have no idea what my problem has been. I write page long posts on my way to work, but just don't seem to find the motivation to get on the computer once I get home.

I'd say it's because there's nothing to write about, but if there's one thing my family is good for, it's providing content. I mean, I could have posted about the beeping noise I walked in to when I got home last night. You know, THAT beeping noise. The one that sinks your stomach and elicits an, "Oh shit!" as you walk up the stairs. The one that has you praying that you haven't lost the entire contents of the freezer and are willing to sacrifice the fridge if someone has to take one for the team. Indeed, luck was on my side. Not only was the fridge safe, but the house didn't burn down from the coffee pot that was left on all day. This was about the time I turned around scanning the room for the next potential money suck asking "Seriously" in disbelief, a la Grey's Anatomy.

It's amazing how marriage changes you. Things that would drive me insane if someone else did them, I can somehow laugh off when Clint is the mastermind. Logic I never thought possible has become one of my first instincts. Not out of agreement mind you, more out of survival and preparation. After not even two years of marriage the whole scene played out in my kitchen without even a word of explanation from my dear husband. The scarier thing is that I think I have a better idea of what went on that morning than he does.

Consider the line crossed

I'm not even really sure where to begin. I'm so appalled that this is even being debated in our highest court. Earlier today I heard on the radio about a court case where they were weighing the legality of ordering a school age student to comply with a strip search under the suspicion of drug possession. Now at first I was just shocked, but after reading this article, I just shook my head in disbelief. Seriously???

How could any school system, and any court house think that it's okay to order a minor child to a strip search without the presence of their parent? After not finding the prescription Ibuprofen in the girl's purse based on the accusation of ONE of her schoolmates, their logical next step was a humiliating strip search as opposed to say searching her locker, or corroborating the story with other students. Clearly they've been watching too much TV.

I mean seriously, if you're that concerned about keeping drugs out of school, and are so certain that this girl is in possession of the drugs, call the effing cops! If you're not at that point, expel her. Under no circumstances should a school system decide that they have the authority that a police officer doesn't even have without bringing a suspect into the station. And to execute this without her parents present. She was a MINOR. Cops can't even talk to minors without their parents. Again I ask, SERIOUSLY???

And yet here we are, hearing the case for at least the third time, debating where the line in the sand is that school systems can't cross in their effort to maintain a zero tolerance environment.

Guess what, the line was effing crossed.

Fatty, Baby Girl, Wiggle Butt, Tessie

The most accurate of all is wiggle butt. As in, I have no tail to wag therefore my entire ass end must make up for it. It's these greetings at the top of the stairs that can make any bad day, or crappy commute melt away. She reaches this uncontrolable level of excitement that just sends her into her horizontal happy dance.

She's also called smush face because well that's what bulldogs are. And Ms. Talkie talk because that's what she does when you're not paying enough attention to her. I've never had a dog that actually talked and interacted with me to the extent that she does. She's demanding and jealous, and just bats her pretty little eyes at you when she knows she's pushing your limits. Everything the stereotypes sa that a little sister is. Every toy Riggo plays with is her new abosolute favorite and must be hers RIGHT NOW.

But as sweet as that little face is, she's also our guard dog, our protector, and lioness. Who needs ADT when Tessie will bark and growl with the bite of an animal twice her size. In her small little head she's the king of the mountain and no one can stand in her way.

For all your expensive allergies that I'm still not sure we're at the bottom of, you're extremely low maintenance in all other aspects of life. You're favorite treat is an ice cube fresh from the freezer. Favorite toy is a rousing game of keep away/fetch with a regular old tennis ball. Weekend morning activity is hoppng in to bed with us just to fall back asleep in the crook of a knee or make shift valley of covers between us.

You not only enjoy the simple pleasures in life, but remind me of them too. I appreciate everything better through your eyes.

Tweet!!!

Six Margaritas into a Friday night and my dear husband finally convinced me to join twitter. He wasn't trying all that hard, but I tend to get chatty when I drink and suddenly our facebook status update chat wasn't cutting it. We created a virtual happy hour of updates and comments with friends, and the next thing I knew, I had an account. Who knows where this will go when I sober up. Could just be a drunk thing kinda like drunk dialing. Likely to be entertaining for those that can appreciate good drunken status updates.

On that note, we're on to some Rockband... Alabama getaway, getaway....Alabama getaway, getaway......