Who is this woman?

I ask myself this all the time now when I see myself in the mirror. I don't know this person. She looks different. Older. Maybe wiser, but am not so sure. I still feel so immature inside, but look haggard on the outside.

When I see myself in pictures I don't recognize myself either.

If I were to describe myself to someone from seeing myself in a photo, this is the image of think of.

Migrant Mother. Dorthea Lange. 

Are birthdays a week long? And how many dance recitals can a person bear?

Apparently in our house they are.

We kicked off the weekend with Diva Two's "family" birthday. But no family came...except Auntie, but not 'til 8:30 (that's ok, we took the high road and didn't even mention it). By that time, half of a big size bottle of pinot grigio had been enjoyed by me and Hilda so all was ok. Dinner was good, capped off with ice cream sundaes for dessert. Very yummy.

Next day was the big rush for the "friend" party at the big museum. I busted hump all morning bathing, cleaning, gathering, etc. etc. for the safari gig. Turned out well, Husband didn't come because work was too important but Mom-in-law did. I had to carry 3 12-packs of soda, 2 bags of snacks, decorations, gifts into the museum by myself. Divas can't carry too much, they might mess themselves up. Sweaty and ready, the party began. B.P. (Bi-Polar Sis-in-law) ventured over. She was going to help but she disappeared into the museum only to be found at cake time -- of which she ate lots and lots. Man, lots happened in 1-1/2 hour. It's already a blur. We safari-ed, looked at taxidermied animals, ate PBJ's and puffy cheetos, and cake. Of course I didn't bring a knife, thinking that a place that has birthday parties every weekend would have one (silly me), so I ended up having to cut my $70 fondant cake with a tiny plastic one. That was interesting. I still have chocolate jammed under my fingernails.

Then home, to regroup, and book on out to Diva Two's dance rehearsal. Diva Two pulled a good haul, over 20 presents. We got sidetracked and started opening in between. We only meant to open 3 or so, but then we did the whole she-bang, which left the living room looking like a cyclone of tissue paper and left us only 20 minutes to get ready and get out to the auditorium.

Who invented tights? Any why are they so hard to put on? Why when you put them on with the tag at the back do the toes get twisted around? And why do all kids hate that little seam at the toes? That is pure agony.

Somehow, we got it together and got out there. It was a 30 minute drive. Dance instructor rambled on an on into the microphone about how exhausted she was, etc. etc. We rehearsed. The one question that kept going through my mind is that why is this called a dance recital? Really, it is more like dressing your kids up in ridiculous, overpriced costumes, standing them in a line, and letting them do what they want. I don't know why I keep paying for this. But I do. Must be some kind of grown-up peer pressure.

On the way home, I was so sleepy that on two occasions, I swerved into another lane. Nap alert!
And I took one from 5:30 to 8:30. Good thing the house didn't burn down or something.

Then, on to the recital. Great home movie that we can all giggle at later.

Monday comes, another dance rehearsal. This time, I had to get Diva One's hair in a bun. She has short hair. It was hard. I had to use those hair nets they use in the deli department at the grocery store. And about 40 hairpins and half a can of hair spray. This was after picking her up from her karate belt test with 20 minutes to get to the dance rehearsal. We made it and she rehearsed, but she was the one called out at the end for sloppy arms and turning the wrong way (she's a lefty so she turns the other way than all the righties. She also can write her name backwards like no one's business).

Tuesday, Diva Two's recital. Actually it was pretty cute. This time we used 60 hairpins and two hairnets. Did not get flowers and got yelled at for that. Instead I gave her queso dip at the mexican restaurant down the street from the dance studio. Seemed like a fair trade to me.

Only one more diva birthday down the pike. Hope I make it!

Queen of the Better Offer

Maybe I am overreacting.

I don't even know what to say about this one.

Today is Diva Two's Birthday. Tried to figure out all week what to do for the actual "day," we're having a big kiddie party tomorrow but always like to do a family thing on the "day." And, like a lot of people all of a sudden, we're on a budget. This economy, and all my slow pay clients have forced us to stretch a bit and keep the ol' wallet closed as much as we can. So, we're not going out and having dinner, drinking cheap chianti, and spending a bunch of money.

Sis-in-law offered to have a birthday cookout at her house for Diva Two. "That might work," I thought. So we went with the idea. Then it changed to having it at our house. It's just easier to do it right there so I don't have to carry a bunch of stuff over to her house. Plus, she never has ketchup or mustard or anything for the hamburgers. And if she does, it's expired.

So the cookout is all planned for this evening, just me and hubby, Diva One and Two, Hilda and her son, and Sis-in-law. I found out this morning that other Sis-in-law isn't coming -- she's bi-polar and can't handle it (Of course she didn't call me, Mother-in-Law had to tell me). That's ok, I was nervous about that anyway. A small family gathering...which is good, because when a few more family members are added with a bit of wine, it gets out of control (more about that later).

Here's the kicker, Sis-in-Law One, the one who offered to do this WHOLE THING AT HER HOUSE in the first place, the one who bothered me ALL WEEK about what we were going to do, called me and told me she was going out for drinks after work and wouldn't be over til 8 or 9 pm.

8 OR 9 PM?????????? FOR A 5 YEAR OLD "FAMILY" BIRTHDAY PARTY. HER NIECE?????
What the.....????????????????

Hmmm, apparently she got a better offer.

I am so mad and of course when she told me I was caught off guard and didn't respond correctly. Now I am thinking, "LISTEN, you &^$#(& ! Are you kidding me? This was your idea from the get-go! You were helping me plan this and get it together?! Now you're going out for drinks and you're gonna show up late, eat food, drink, boss everyone around and leave.

And basically, this happens once a week when she doesn't have dinner and comes over, lets herself in our house with the key she has, and sees what we're having for dinner and then conveniently asks to stay. (What if I was cooking naked?)

Now, I know I have some boundary issues. I should just cut it off from the beginning. I need to take that key away, tell her what's what, and be done with it. But, being the little bulldog that she is, she would get all up in my face. Me, being the non-confrontational person that I am, I try to avoid that. Seriously though, I need to figure out some behavior modification because this ticks me off every time and yet it happens over and over.

Maybe I can read this later and realize how stupid it is, and quit letting it happen.

Once more, Happy Birthday Diva Two!!

Try, try again

So I tried to bring up the Mother's Day thing again last night.

And it went nowhere. The Mother's Day thing was just a blip on the bigger radar screen. Really what I want is a participating member of our household.

Again, it all goes back to me.

1. I should be grateful because he does lots more around the house than most husbands. I should check with my friends and compare notes.

2. I am the reason he works all the time, to try and pay for everything that I did to put him in debt (like have children).

3. I am such an unreasonable person because I asked that he come to Diva Two's birthday party, AND her dance recital.

4. I am a freak because it doesn't bother me that Barack Obama doesn't wear a flag pin.

I guess I should really think about these things.

Ok, I'm done. And I went out last nigth to have some wine with a friend and dish about all the ridulous-ness in the world. We talked about Eleanor Roosevelt, sausages, and some guy that wasn't mentally all there bought us a round of drinks. We thought it might be the two cute French guys next to use who sent a Peroni cap flying into my lap. But, no such luck.

Came home and slept with the Divas. Took off my clothes this time though.

Anyway today, seems kind of silly and stupid through the hangover haze. Oh, and I guess since I slept with the Divas, he didn't feel like he had to flush the toilet last night and left me a gagger this morning. Yuk.

On the edge of Mother's Day

This one really did me in. I mean, it's been bad before, but this one took the cake. I know from experience not to really expect much, but a cup of coffee or kind word would really make the day.

Here's how it went.

I fell asleep with Diva Two the night before, fully clothed (I do this alot because I am (a) exhausted from doing my day and (b) I don't want to listen to the screaming and crying about the "darkness" when I leave the room and (c) my kids are gonna be big one day and won't want me near them so I am trying to cram it all in now). I go downstairs and get in bed with hubby and Peanut (the dog) to try to watch CBS Sunday Morning -- the one TV indulgence I ask for all week -- please, please, please let me watch this show that gives me an informed, peaceful feeling.

What would make the experience perfect was a cup of coffee. In bed. On Mother's Day. I waited. And waited. Then I waited some more. Soon, Charles Osgood was leaving me in some quiet forest with birds, but no coffee. Hubby was still lying there. It was 10:30 and no sign of movement. So I got up and headed to the kitchen to my my own %$#@ing coffee. "Where are you going?" he asks. "To make some coffee," I reply. Suddenly, the covers fly off and he storms outta bed. "I WILL GET YOUR *&^^%$# COFFEE! DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT!" Not really a nice way to talk to the mother of your children first thing in the morning on MOTHER'S DAY.

Now, I know he can be a bit, well...grumpy and usually if I let it go it will blow over. So I get back in bed and he brings me my coffee and gets back in bed. The doorbell rings, it's Diva One back from a sleepover. She's ready to make Mommy breakfast in bed. Hubby doesn't stir. So she goes into the kitchen and starts clanking pots around. Hubby gets up and mutters his way into the kitchen. I get a Lender's Mini Bagel with peanut butter. Not quite the eggs and bacon I was hoping for, but hey, at least it's something.

Then I shower, come into the kitchen and begin making a homemade cake sister's birthday dinner that night. Hubby showers and lies back down on the couch to grab some more TV. Oh, that was after he told me I was wasting time and I should just go buy one at the grocery store. So senitmental!

Hubby was putting away his undies and I went in the bedroom and said that his being grumpy and nasty to me on Mother's Day says to me that he really doesn't give a rip about me. He called me "hypersensitive" and told me to get out of the room. Gladly, I obliged.

Therein, the tone of the day was set.

I cooked all day, did wash, packed bookbags, wrapped presents and tended to kids. I didn't see the outside world all day. I was like a shriveled up toadstool, shrinking from the sun when I went out.

Birthday dinner was good, but I had to get quiet. I drank a lot of wine, listened to stories from old people and didn't say a word on the way home. Doesn't even phase him. It's not like I am trying to get him to "read my mind" or anything but it's just not even worth bringing up.

I'll try again another day.