Ramona Quimby is My Homegirl

So last night I watched Ramona and Beazus. My neice is here and it was her movie pick, but to be honest I had a secret longing to watch it anyway. So thanks, Lo, for being my scapegoat.

Ramona is a girl after my own heart. She's spunky. She's courageous. She's not afraid to be different. She'd rather wear t-shirts than tiaras. She's fierce.

But she has a vulnerable side to her as well. With courage comes failure. If you think about it, it's really a numbers game. One who never takes risks undoubtably has a low failure rate. But for girls like me and Ramona...well, sometimes it feels like failure is our middle name.

Despite our best efforts, things just go wrong. We get grand ideas that we just KNOW are going to impress and dazzle and somehow we forget one tiny little detail that unravels the whole scheme, thwarting all our efforts and shadowing our true intent. Drat that stupid Murphy and his stupid law.

But in the movie last night, Ramona saw a way to "save" her family. It was going to take something big, but that didn't scare her. She tried. Chaos ensued.

I'm in a similar situation. I was presented with a way to really help my family financially, but it's something completely out of my comfort zone and it's something I've failed at several times before. If I succeed, it will be big. Vindication big. But if I fail...ohhhhhh if I fail. It will be just one more punch in the gut that reminds me that I have fallen short of expectations. Again.

In the end, Ramona did, in fact, save the day. And after switching off the telly I felt pumped, empowered! If Ramona can do it...IIII can do it!! Okay, so Ramona lives in La La Land where there's always happy endings. But surely my number is up to succeed. Surely Murphy is burdening someone else at the moment.

It's a risk. I could fail. But that never stopped Ramona. And like I said, Ramona is my homegirl.

I'm just....mad.

I was an angry child. I don't know why. I had great parents, great family, a stable home, plenty to eat, presents for every birthday and Christmas, cartoons on Saturday...but I was still angry. Sure, I had a brother that LOVED to call me bubble-butt (a name not totally undeserved). And I had a sister that NEVER let me touch her things. And I lost my mom. But really, I don't know what constituted my anger.

Today, I still have angry days and I still don't know why. Today, I'm just mad for some reason. I've got a few to-do's lingering over my head with a deadline quickly approaching and that situation always gets me frazzled. But what the french, toast? I walk to the fridge and I'm mad that I can't eat anything in it. Then I'm mad that I eat it anyway. Then I sit down at the computer and my tasks don't go as planned so I'm mad about that. I look in the mirror and don't like the reflection so I'm mad at the mirror. Then Jace wants juice and that makes me mad. Wait...I'm mad at Jace for wanting juice?!

I stop. I need to write. I need to write quickly. Get this anger in check.

"What's going on, Carl?" (this is Self talking)

"Oh, I don't know self. Just pissed today." (me. You get the idea)

"Well, snap out of it! You've got some pretty darn good kids counting on you to be their happy mommy and you're pretty much dropping the ball today."

"I know, I know! I need to change my 'tude! But I can't get out of this funk. What should I do."

"Darn it, Private just do what you gotta do!" (Self has morphed into one of my old drill sergeants now. sheesh.) "As your Meenie would sing, 'Count your blessings...Name them one by one.'"

"You're right."

"I'm always right." (kind of a know-it-all sometimes, isn't she?)

"Okay, okay... 1. Kids, two of them, nuff said. (melting, the anger is melting already) 2. The ability to do said 'to-do's'. 3. Beautiful day today (drip, drip, drip.) 4. I'm not working (major melting...like buttah) 5. Kids. 6. Jace. 7. Mia. 8. Hubby (whose not a kid) (it's going...going.....GONE) Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh"

"There, now isn't that better?"

Yes, much better.

Deja' Vu

It starts so early. As soon as a woman meets the man she'll marry, she envisions what her children will look like. For some, it's even a deciding factor for choosing a mate. Does he have good genes? Will he go grey? Will they get his blue eyes? And finally, the day comes when she sees her baby boy's face for the first time and all her thoughts are confirmed - he's perfect!

The boy grows and changes and every time she looks at him, she is further convinced that he's the most beautiful boy in the whole world. But then her vision of her perfect child is corrupted. A fall at school leaves his handsome smile scarred with a chipped tooth. She cries but is glad he's okay and nothing more serious.

Before long, the chipped tooth becomes a part of his charm and charactar. Life proceeds as usual, with her ideal son persisting as the center of her life. He reaches several milestones right on target and impresses the people around him with his witty conversation and inventive personality. Nothing can go wrong for this golden boy.

Nothing except ice cream.

One bite made her realize her son was in pain. The thought of anything being wrong with her baby makes her want to cry and when the dentist tells her he has to pull the baby's front tooth, she's heartbroken. His three-year-old-pictures won't be the same. His beautiful, chipped, quirky smile different and wrong. But she's just glad that he's no longer in pain. As she holds her baby's head in her lap as he sleeps away the pain and memory of his dentist visit, though, she realizes he's the same boy after all. He still loves cho-choc and Curious George. He still loves to work outside in his mud shoes and get dirty. And he still lives and breathes and loves his mama just like he did before. She'll get used to his new gapped smile just like she did before and come to love it as part of her little man.

She'll also learn a valuable lesson. She learned that if she continued to expect her son to look a certain way or act a certain way, then she's setting herself up for a life of heartache. Because children change and grow and they don't ask permission to do so. And no matter how they surprise you, they are still perfect because they are yours.

I wrote this after Jace's chipped tooth had to be pulled and it just broke my heart for him to have a "flaw". I know, I know...it was pretty darn vain of me to think that way. But after taking Jace to the eye doctor today and learning he might have to have glasses, the same feelings came flooding back and I remembered this journal entry I made. Admittedly, it's a bit melodramatic. But in my defense, I was pregnant then and had an abundance of hormones doing most of my talking for me. At any rate, if it comes down to Jace needing glasses, I'll just be happy he's alive and well and a fantastically rambunctious little man.

No Bra Required

There's an old adage that says dogs and their owners eventually look alike. Well, I think exercises and their 'doers' have the same tendency.

I'm usually a pretty intense person, albeit in short bursts (we've discussed my ADD issues into the dirt, no need to revisit). I like to get in, do the darn thing, and be done with it. But I like to think I do it with gusto. The cleaning I'm always complaining about? Once I finally do it, I sweep in (ha, no pun intended) like an underpaid housekeeper and be done with it. No time to fiddle-fart around, I blogs to write, darn it. Anywho, I'm much the same with exercising. I like to feel the burn, break a sweat, really feel like I've accomplished maximum calorie burn.

In the past I've tried various alternative workouts. Pilates hit the scene and my uber long and lean friend, Kelli, insisted that it's the best workout ever. It suited her. It relaxed her and made her feel even more long and lean. I, on the other hand, with my two feet wing-span, just felt even shorter and squattier than usual and like I'd just wasted 30 minutes of staccato breathing.

Then I tried Yoga...hmmm. For the earthy types, I can see how it would blow their dress up. Me, I kept looking around the room thinking, 'no one's really buying this "tailbone into the earth" crap, are they?'

But for the past few weeks, I've done a boot camp at Lake Hefner. Yeah, now that's something that gets me going! It's charged full of energy. It's a competition to see who won't puke up their cheeseburger (sorry Fer Fer, had to throw that in ;) It lets me relive my glory days as an Army PT Queen. Yes, I even let out a little reminiscent "hooah" at yesterday's camp. It hurts and sucks and rocks all at the same time. And it's something you can walk away from going, "Yeah, that's right sucka! I did it! What? You wanna piece of me?" and then admire the faint hint of definition in your triceps. Good times, good times....

....but sometimes....it's nice to enjoy a different kind of workout. The intensity is exciting and challenging and that's the kind of person I am. Today, though, I played the part of someone different. Today I was a dancer at a barre, a ballet barre, not the topless variety. I felt silly 'lengthening' and 'pointing' and gracefully doing plies and whatnot. But after all the blood-pumping activity yesterday, it was nice to burn some calories without the aid of a sports bra. No sweat, no water bottle even. Just muscles burning and "lengthening".

It was nice, different. Different can be good. Aaahhhh....

Different Kind of Politics

You're at the park and you see one of "those" kids. You know, the ones that are pushing the other kids or hogging the slide or just being unruly. What's the first thing you do? Look around for his mom. What's the next thing you do? Judge. Let's face it, we've all done it and we all assume we've never been the subject of said judgement. Well, that's just not true. No matter how hard we try, at some point our parenting skills fall short of others' expectations.

Now that Jace is getting older and entering various social scenes, I feel like I'm on constant don't-do-that mode for fear of having "that" kids and getting "those" looks. Now, with my close group of friends, we've been around each other enough to know each other's style of parenting and are supportive of each other. But in a more neutral setting, such as Jace's t-ball games, there's a very fine line that must be walked. Let your kid push and shove and rough-house and you get that 'geez-do-something-with-that-kid' look. Shout over the crowd, drag him off the field, sit him down, basically make a scene, and you get the "wow-that-lady-needs-to-learn-how-to-control-her-kid" look. It's exasperating.

The right thing to do, I know this, is to just be confident in my own parenting skills. I'm just not. that. confident. I'm constantly worried about what other people think, like their opinion qualifies me as a parent. Even though I've never, ever heard any of their opinions voiced aloud.

Only once have I had another mom openly chastise my kid in front of me and let's just say I put a stop to that right quick like. (Seriously, who lets a one-year-old play in a ball pit with big 4 and 5 year old boys?) I guess I can say that was one time I felt confident enough to know I was officially doing my job.

I guess I'm just surprised by this phenomenon. This is not something I ever anticipated. Having trials and challenges as a parent is one thing, but to have your stinkin' hard work scrutinized by the surrounding public is another. It's not like we can turn to the on-lookers and say, "What? You think you can do it any better?!" Oh, can you imagine??? Classic!! I think I might just give that a try one day. Cast your votes for Mom of the Year right here, please.

Our Story, Just Like Us

After reading my cousin Kaycie's blog detailing her love story with her new hubby (my actual cousin, I inherited Kaycie in the deal), reliving that old spark, that wonderful, gooey, makes-everyone-else-sick-to-their-stomach story sounds like a great idea. This is the first challenge @www.mommyfriend.com called Project Marriage.

So here it goes...

Shea and I are both pretty laid back creatures. Well, okay, I'm not so much. I tend to spaz at times but when it comes to things I'm still very que sera sera. And so our love story is very much the same.

Easter weekend 2004. I had just gotten home from a year long deployment to Iraq and Shea was visiting his parents in our hometown of Comanche. I went to one of those has-been parties where everyone who graduated from Comanche in the last ten years went to catch up with friends. I bumped into a friend of mine who proceeded to borrow my phone to call up some of his buddies. Shea was numero uno.

I could hear them chatting; Shea asked who all was there and Scotty ran down the list, completely leaving me off of it until I gave a good blow to his ribs. I should mention here that I knew exactly who Shea was. He was the high school senior that we all had crushes on in junior high. The football jock. The guy with the cool car that worked at the local grocery store. He. Was. A. God. (in our eyes) So when Scotty (finally) threw in that I was there, Shea's tone mysteriously changed and said he'd be there in a few. Hmmm...

For the next five to ten minutes I tried positioning myself all over the house trying to look inconspicuous but at the same time, well, conspicuous (I didn't want any of the other hoochies snatching him up, darn it!) He walked in and I played it cool. Oh yes. I played it cool. As best I could with failing anti-perspirant. We started chatting and I did my best to relate to him in some fashion. Sadly, the military slant was all I had. He had just gotten out of the Navy so we had some common ground there.

Finally, at the end of the night he got a little awkward and said, "So, would you like to hang out some time?" Aaahh, the line to end all lines. But it worked so I guess I can't judge. I gave him "digits" and four days later (stupid, rackin frackin, bleepity bleep guys) he called.

We talked for hours. And hours. We had our first date the next weekend. I drove to Edmond to see him and just didn't leave. I was supposed to go to Stillwater for another friend's get together and had to drag myself away, five hours late, to go to it. I drove away, wishing I hadn't, missing him already, and when I stopped at a red light, a 'crossroads' if you will, I decided not to go to Stillwater. I turned right, instead of left, and went home. And as I drove south, I said right then and there, "I'm going to marry that man."

I called Shea later that night. He was surprised to hear from me. He then surprised me by showing up back in Comanche the very next day. For the next three months, we were burning the highways to see each other. One day, he was getting ready to leave my house and said, "Man, I don't wanna leave." We were tired of living in different towns and were thinking of options. I said, "Let's just get married!" And he said, "Okay." First laughter, then silence. We looked at each other and realized we were both serious.

We got married a month later on the beach of Jamaica with only a dread-locked white woman in a bikini and a Jamaican Sandal's employee in attendance. That was almost eight years ago. We've definitely had some kinks to work out that comes with getting married so fast and so young (well, on my part. Shea robbed the cradle just a bit.) But I don't see it ending any time soon.

When you know, you know, right?