my pal

*exhale*

This is going to be a jumbled mess.  I just need an outlet.  My insides are wailing, and I'm attempting not to do that myself.

I am so tired.  So incredibly tired.  My two year old had fever for 4 days, and hasn't been more than an arm's reach away from me in a week.  I need some space.  I need solitude.  I am CRAVING quiet and time to myself.  I need to be able to get some work done.  I cannot keep up with all my chores and tend to my sick little guy and take care of getting the big guy registered for school. 

Kind of following Katie's post, I need some personal development.  I need some self worth.  I understand that I'm doing an important job raising the boys.  I do understand it.  I am glad that they are affectionate, compassionate, and generally good kids.  I am relieved that they aren't dropped off at a daycare every day.  I went that route with Chase until he was 2, and the difference in Logan today and Chase at the same point is incredible.  I need friends.  Like real-life, able to give a hug, let's go get a drink friends.  I need some local support.  I feel completely alone here, and it sucks.  I need a challenge.  I need my brain to be challenged and I am longing to learn.

I'm tired of changing diapers.  I'm tired of being a waitress.  I'm tired of answering five million questions an hour about things that I know he all ready knows the answer to.  I'm tired of reiterating that the sofa is for sitting not jumping.  

I need a break.  I need something good.  I need something to remind myself that I do matter in this jumble of diapers, dishes, and disarray.

I'm not even asking for a tropical beach with an island boy at my beck and call.  Not that I'd turn that away right now.  

I had a "what am I doing here" moment yesterday.

See, I'm really driven. A good leader. Bright. With lots of potential. You'd think I'd be applying that to a successful career. We went to a barbecue at my husband's CO's house, and I was slightly jealous that I wasn't a CO. (Not a CO's wife- screw that noise!) I could be a CO. Not that I've ever had any desire to be in the military. My husband is very nurturing. He likes taking care of people, while I'm a good leader and very analytical. That's why he's a cook and I'm a SAHM driving myself crazy with bottled up "potential," waiting for the day we can switch roles and he can be a gourmet-cooking stay-at-home dad to teenage girls and I can be a society-shaping head of household on a feminist rampage.

I made myself feel better by reminding myself that while midwifery is a nurturing business, I'm getting into it so that I can empower women to take ownership of their bodies and take down the patriarchy. I'll just use that GI bill money to pay for my advanced practice nursing degree, and I'll infiltrate the hospitals, offering freedom to those who want it.

I want to break down barriers. How long do I have to stay around here changing diapers?

(And why do I feel the need to justify the fact that I love my kids and am very happy in my current role as if I'm a bad mom for harboring a secret ambition?)

So lame. Me, I mean.

I definitely lack the cool factor that my co-contributors have.  I am clueless when it comes to indie-rock, or indie anything, really.  I'm from small town Texas, and have a very limited frame of reference.  In school, there was no option for dance classes or other artistic training, either in school or allowed by my parents.  We were allowed by Mom to take one class through the school district's Continuing Education program.  My sister chose twirling, and I chose Manners & Etiquette.  

The speculation about me was pretty dead-on.  The shame is that I had to look up Dawson's Creek to see who Joey was.  Without getting knee-deep into a therapy session, let's say I didn't have much time or desire for me as a teenager.  Oh, and I never saw Cry Baby.  I think I have some DVD's to rent.

I am a complete nerd, with a habit of researching any and everything.  I have been that way since, well, forever.  I'm compassionate, sometimes to a fault.  I do have blue eyes that catch a lot of attention, and are incapable of hiding anything.  

In the last 10 years, I have made great strides in looking for me under the facade of caretaker and "good girl".  I've discovered an attraction to all things retro, specifically pinups and swing skirts.  I also love Middle Eastern dance, music, and food.  I'm the belly dancing, Southern Baptist "good girl".  

I am probably one of the most enthusiastic and optimistic depressed people you will ever encounter.

As is my MO, I'm not entirely sure I fit with the group here, but I'm gonna give it my all and take advantage of an outlet to purge some emotions that I normally wouldn't share - or even admit to having.

Late to the Party, as Usual

Awww, Corey? I always thought I was more of a Deb...You know, screw it all, shave the head (hair is in the sink if you want to glue it), oh wait, no, I didn't really try to kill myself, just wanted the attention...Yeah, complex but not so. You know, the tomboy who sometimes wears pink, the otherwise “normal-looking” girl with the purple hair, the bookish child grown to an introverted teenager who suddenly jumped out into the world one day and yelled “Look at me!”

Mother once told me that I wouldn’t make it on my looks alone and I wondered, “What looks?” I still see the too-thin girl with dark eyes too big for the face and constellations of freckles across her nose. My hair will never be longer than my chin because I hate it. Right now it’s the regular brown, but I have that hair-dyeing itch again. I was anorexic but I don’t think I am anymore. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell. Life tends to be like that. I can give or take food, but I do eat. Sometimes, I even get hungry.

So, me…Who is me? A sort of twisted sense of humor; I’m the girl in the room who is quiet during the jokes and snickers at inappropriate times. I know how to use my grammar, but sometimes I prefer to not. Mom says I could read before the age of 4, but my real love is dance – and if one more person makes a stripper comment…Ok, so I have a sense of humor about that. But no, not the adult kind of dance. Sorry, boys.

So, I majored in dance and also English, but then I decided to get married and have kids, a choice that I’m glad I made. Most of the time I’m happily married. So now I’m back in school, but not dancing. Juggling school, work, and family, is an interesting prospect to say the least. Oh, and I’ve just been diagnosed with clinical depression. Surprise! But I’ve managed to keep my head above the water and I’m doing much better than I was. Hey, I’m here, I’m awake and out of bed, and that counts for something.

So, who am I really? I guess I’ll find out right along with everyone else. The road goes on forever and the party never ends, right?

Now I have to go. Mr. Christie is begging for attention and my dog is begging to be fed. If the road doesn’t go on, at least life does. Thank Goodness for that.

Suddenly, this summer.

I love the tropics, if not for the weather, then certainly for the giant cockroaches.
What is it with this latitude and giant bugs? Seriously, the world over. Da Cock-a-roach. Palmetto bugs. Madagascar hissing cockroaches.

A particularly unfortunate one (let's call him Sebastian, shall we?) made it into our house this morning and was subsequently exterminated by my very talented husband.

Chased around the house by an angry mob (or man), then devoured, devoured by ants. Horrible, hungry ants. They took him, part by part, through the cut-out cinder block wall to the lanai.

The former periplaneta's cousin is now facing a lobotomy from the trauma, while his aunt is fanning herself, surrounded by carnivorous plants in a steamy, wrought iron and glass conservatory, clearly in denial about the insect's sexuality.

(I'd post pictures, but do you really want to see a picture of half a dead cockroach surrounded by ants? Don't answer that.)

Introductory rambling

Is this to be a snarky rant, a treatise on how I view my peers, an answer to the rather strange question, "If I were a meal, what would I be?"

Perhaps.

Maybe it's a shout-out to the strength of my fellow nice girls.

Yes.

It is.

Shout out to all of us, holding it together. Because being positive will clear the hard road ahead. Because being single parents, whether on a patrol schedule or full-time, is a testament to our strength. Because we are doing our best.

About me:

I am not Peggy Lipton, but I am suffering from a strange case of blondorexia. I did feel alone in high school, but that was a long time ago. When I read princess stories to my girls, I change the endings.

If I were a meal, you'd have to go to 4 different stores to get all my ingredients. So sorry for making you run all around town.

Some girls swear they know me

Amber is Dawson's Joey, and Allison Vernon Williams from Cry-Baby. I can see Amber as the teen caregiver; the only one that didn't get that she was the most beautiful girl in the room. I envision her as always have had having that deep-pools-of-water depth behind her eyes, even when she smiled, even as a child. I imagine her as having a secret diary hidden behind pretty pastel sweater sets on the top shelf of her closet in her childhood bedroom.

Christie is the song "Punk Rock Girl" by The Dead Milkmen, and Corey Mason from Empire Records. If I would have met Christie in high school I would have had a girl crush; not in the perv way, but in the "I want her to wear the other side of my 24 carat best friends necklace" way. Christie would have been the girl in my dance class refusing to make eye contact with me, who wore purple leg-warmers, and chomped her gum loudly at her indifference to the other girls' in class. She would have pegged me as "one of them" and I would have been beyond crushed. I would have falled all over myself to prove she was wrong; only proving how right she was.

Katie is Peggy Linton beautiful and sparks images of listening to The Mamas & The Papas while driving down a rural scenic highway your freshman year to Antioch College in Yellow Springs, Ohio. I imagine her as the girl in high school who hung out in the art room during lunch hour; the one who knew what Dadaism was and had read The Dharma Bums by 13. Someone who never tried to "fit in" and never had to try to be cool. Her very being must have flew over her classmate's head. High school strikes me as having to have been somewhat lonely to have been so sophisticated.

I am Angela Chase from My So-called Life; I think to much and I fall for the wrong guys. I wore knee socks in high school and had baseball player superstitious habits like only painting my toes silver, or wearing blue shoes.

damn you Jordan Catalano.