Dance Moms

Kiddo has been enrolled in a Preschooler Gymnastics program at a local dance studio as part of OurMilitaryKids.com.  They give grants to children of deployed soldiers to enjoy an extracurricular activity during the deployment. 

He didn't qualify for the county soccer league because his birthdate was two weeks later than their deadline.

There was NO WAY he was going to cooperate with swimming lessons.  He's too young for Karate.

He LOVED his gymnastics class at his old daycare last year...why not?!

Basically we go once a week, and for half an hour, he bounces around the room like a maniac, sometimes listening to the instructor, and is chased by the girls in the class.

He is the only dose of testesterone in the room.

In my area, the boys are in Karate, or playing video games.

They are not in Gymnastics.

He can't focus long enough to be in Karate...we would be asked to leave.

The first week was a nightmare.  I wanted to crawl under a desk and hide.  He acted like he had never been out of the house...it was awwwwful. 

He was rolling around in the floor. 

Crawling up the mirrors and licking them.

Running around like he was on fire.

I was so 'shamed.

I threatened 'NO TV EVER AGAIN' on the drive home.

Then we developed a sticker reward system that has helped him focus.

Over the past few weeks, he's improved his listening skills, is cooperating,  and is having a good time.

Which is my goal.

I KNOW I do not have Bruce Jenner here...believe me. 

However, the other Dance Moms think they have the next Mary Lou Retton.

Or whatever you call a top notch ballerina...Prima Ballerina I think???

Give me a break.

Its an itty bitty dance studio in itty bitty Central Virginia.

The place is in strip mall.

Your kid is FOUR.

You talk about selling plasma to pay for Jazz, Tap, Ballet and Gymnastics.

(Yes, she did and Yes, she was serious)

If your child is not excelling, you blame the instructor and talk crap about her in the waiting room.

You buy all the little cheapo dance bags, and handmade frilly tutus, and stuuuuffff that they have laying out there to buy.

It's like being in an episode of Toddlers and Tiaras.

I am soooo not in that clique.

I carry in my book and Iphone, I sit in the corner, listen for Kiddo to yell that he has to pee (the toilet is too high and he will pee in the floor everytime if I don't help him)...and just ignore these ladies.

I tried for the first three weeks to engage and make friends. 

Week One...We talked about babies, and toddlers.  About work and school.  About how preschoolers are just little cute spawns.

Week Two, started out normal and then I just listened to the bitching, moaning, complaining and whining, and wondered what I was doing there. 

Week Three, I took a book and half attempted to carry on a conversation.

Week Four, they all exchanged phone numbers and emails...I didn't even get acknowledged.

I quickly realized that I was an outsider and I just didn't 'get it'.

And I am perfectly fine with that.

Come on...for heaven's sake.

If you can't pay your bills (which you just told ALL of us), your kid does not need to be in these classes!

You don't have grocery or gas money? 

Holy crap....really???

But you just bought a $16 homemade tutu.

And new dance shoes....for a four year old...for Jazz class. 

Yes, I am being judgmental, but hell lady, you threw it out there for all of us to chew on. 

I'm sitting there trying really hard not to roll my eyes and knock my head against the wall behind me.

As long as Kiddo is having fun, no longer crawling around in the floor and licking the mirrors in the class, I'll just continue to show up and sit in the corner.

I'm taking headphones next week.

Bad mom

I've got bronchitis.

I've had freaking bronchitis for eighteen months, three days, nine hours and sixteen minutes.

Well....not really, but it sure as hell feels like it.

I'm tired of coughing, but at least I don't feel like I have been hit by a truck anymore.

I sound more emphysema-ish right now, and not like my lung is going to hurl itself out on the table.

Last week, I could barely hold my head up in class...but I was there.  Taking notes, taking tests...keeping up with the ballgame.

I can't say that many of my classmates have my drive. 

I'd kick my own tail if I was as lame as some of them are.  Not all of them...but there are a few that if I go to a doctor's office and they are there to attend me...I'll be asking for someone else.

One student came in with the excuse that the orange drink from the glucose test at her OB made her ill.  But then in the next sentence she was talking about going to the pumpkin patch and then putting $900 (yes, $900) worth of toys for her daughter on layaway at Wal Mart. 

If your happy ass can withstand the pumpkin patch AND WalMart in one day...I think you could make it to class.

Another...well, she had forgotten that she had class on Monday.  How the eff do you FORGET you have class.  We have it EVERY stinking Monday.

And no...you can't borrow my notes.  They are written in shorthand (they really are for this express purpose...learned that valuable lesson in college when an entire notebook of notes failed to reappear).  People won't bother to use your notes once they realize they can't read the language.

I'm evil.

Plus I coughed on them.

But back to my bronchitis...

I made it through class and then headed the hell home...where I laid down on the couch for four blessed hours and died a coughing hacking phlegmy death...

Then I got back up, got in the car, and went to pick up Kiddo.

This went on all week.

By Friday, I was feeling semi-human, so I dropped him at preschool...did a quick run to the grocery store, then home...to die on the couch for a few hours.  I did vacuum the house and fold some laundry, but otherwise, my happy coughing ass was on the couch again.

Even though I was stupid sick with the plague of plagues, I felt guilty for leaving him in the care of his preschool and not picking him up early nor keeping him home with me.

One...I needed to rest.  You can't rest with a four year old.  It is in their DNA to aggravate the holy sin out of you whether you feel well or not.  They know.  They can smell it.

Two...I didn't want him to catch it.  I was already taking every precaution known to man to keep him well...and keeping him as far away from me for as long as possible...in my mind...was shielding him.

Three...I wanted to die...for a few hours.  Really...am I all that bad?

Nope...I am not. 

Why?  Because even my mom...who NEVER left me with anyone...told me to do it.

If my mom thinks it is ok...then it is sealed with approval.

This is the woman that hated the fact that I had to drive with him in the back seat for an hour commute each day because he might get upset.

I'm ok.

Distractions...

I had my journey to Maine.

It was nice...and gorgeous...and it was so much fun seeing my BFF.

Now I have the most raging case of bronchitis that I have had in many many years.  Illness usually does not kick me in the teeth...but this one has.

So every day this week..after class...I head home...and die on the couch for a few hours before I go pick up Kiddo from preschool.

Today, I am feeling semi close to normal.  I got home...vacummed the downstairs, put a pot of spaghetti sauce on...then sat down on the couch to cough for a while.

I got sucked into watching part of The Appalachians series on PBS.

By the end of the hour, I just wanted to pack my suitcase and go home to West Virginia.

I'm convinced..there just isn't anywhere else on Earth that calls to someone from that region quite like those Mountains call us home.

Most Hillbillies will tell you how there is literally no place like home.  Each holler feels familiar and welcoming.  I know the rivers and the streams.  The foliage...the fog in the bottoms...the smell after rain.  How the hillsides look with snow.  How to glide the curves in the roads... The music speaks to your blood.  The rhythm of the accent is...it just is.

I have been nowhere that makes me feel like taking my shoes off, rooting my toes in the soil...breathing in deeply and just letting Her envelope me.

But alas, there are very few opportunities there. 

The jobs are gone, the education system is struggling.  The economy was bad to begin with, but it isn't any better...especially now.

We left ten years ago...and just cannot justify returning. 

But that doesn't mean there isn't a longing desire to go home...and visits are never long enough.

To breathe it all in...and feel the thrum of the soil.  I can't explain it with words...but its so familiar and so HOME.

And I want to go HOME.

Running away from home...

Muhahahaha!

I am running away from home!

Whoot!

Wheee!

My suitcase is packed.

I have non animated sitcoms on my own freaking Iphone to watch on the plane.

I have a book that DOES NOT have pictures...nor does it freaking rhyme.

I'm going NORTH...I am running way North...

To Maine...that kind of North...far North.

And I am so freaking excited....

But I am also a little freaked out about leaving Kiddo.

He'll be in the very capable hands of my parents.

My mother is guarandamnteed to be farther up his ass than I am.

My father will play with him non stop.

The dog is going to be thrilled because he will be let out a lot more.

And I have left money for them to eat out at all the favorites.

But of course there is always that damned responsible bone in me...

I had to do the Medical Power of Attorney form and Medical Authorization Form.

I had to leave the list of Emergency numbers.

Then there was the email to the Family Readiness Group leader letting her know she was in charge of calling the Red Cross if I there was a need.

I'm stressing just a little.

But I am going to have a blast...

Whoooo hoooo!

And another year down...

I've been mooshed.

Squished.

Mashed.

Poked.

Prodded.

Sonogrammed....

And I got a free tote bag!

The Fibroid is still there. 

Of course.

The Cyst from this summer is a teeny tiny little round thing.

But as I informed the tech, the radiologist, the tech and another radiologist..."THAT hurts like a mother". 

I did not add Fucker...but I wanted to.

Apparently it is in tissue that is affected by hormones, therefore the swelling, retreating, swelling, retreating.

I have been cleared for another year...so off to TGI Friday's to meet a fellow deployed solider spouse (her Hubby and The Husband are working together) and I had the Biggest Most Caffeinated Sweet Iced Tea I could have.  Two glasses. 

It was good.

Now to take the Kiddo to finish off his MMR shot and his Flu Shot.

I'll officially have peed in his Cheerios.

Mashing tomorrow!

Oh goodie!

I get to go for my annual Mammary Mashing tomorrow!  Won't you ladies join me! 

I promise fun awkward moments...especially when the tech tells you not to move as she has your breast in a vice while you are standing on your tip toes getting overly friendly with a machine that is not getting friendly back.

But it is necessary my friends.

These stinking fibroids...hmmph. 

I've been good and have been sticking to my one caffeinated beverage a day policy.  I was not amused today when I went to my lunch box during break to find that my can of Diet Mtn Dew had undergone a change and was an extra can of Caffeine Free Diet Pepsi. 

I cussed.

This is what happens when you pack your lunch in a hurry.

I've sorta stuck with the elemental iodine I had been prescribed.

I haven't worn an underwire bra in MONTHS. 

Macy's version is a lot sturdier that the overpriced Victoria's Secret version by the way.

I know I will get the phone call that they have abnormal results.  Of course you have abnormal results...I have a field of Lima Beans rolling around in my Boobies!

But it is a necessary evil ladies that truly saves lives.

And afterwards, I'm meeting up with a fellow Deployed Soldier Spouse and having lunch at TGI Fridays...where I think I will have the biggest glass of Sweet Tea they have. 

Hate It Book Review

Jean Auel:

May I ask WHAT IN THE HELL WERE YOU DOING when you wrote Land of Painted Caves?

Really woman?

Did you write it or poop it out?

Because it suuucked.

I stopped reading in Chapter 8. I couldn't take it anymore.

I flipped to the back...read the ending...which was even dumber...and closed it. 

Deeply irrevocably disappointed in what you did here.

Your character of Ayla has been reduced to a woman that can't have a career and a child. 

Jondalar is just milling around talking about spear throwing.

 You introduce the damned Wolf to everyone in the SAME FREAKING WAY.

 I know Ayla has an accent.  DUH. 

I know Jondalar is tall.  DUH. 

I know she looks exotic.  DUH. 

DAMN DAMN DAMN.

All I have to say...if I had bought this book...I'd want my money back. 

Instead I got to dump it in the Return box at the Library today and kiss it goodbye.

Because it SUCKED.

Love It Book Review

I said a few blogs back, that the folks around here take their Virginia History VERY seriously.

And Kiddo and I went to the Henricus Publick Days and enjoyed it immensely.  You know the place where he sparred with a Colonial, and watched the Chickahominy Indians dance?

I passed a booth there that I really wanted to stop and look at, but with a four year old in tow that wasn't willing to look at anything for more than two seconds that was not pirate related, I had to do a quick memory scan and hope I could remember the name of the book.  I smiled and waved at the author, but couldn't stop to chat.

I did.  Thankfully.  I had to Google a few times to get the spelling right of the author, but I found it!

I checked it out from the local library.

I read it until 3am on Saturday night.  Fell asleep with it in my hands.  Woke up on Sunday morning, stayed on the couch and in my PJ's until noon while I finished it.   

Kiddo was parked in front of Thomas Marathons to keep him quiet.  He was fed, and pottied a few times. Other than that, there wasn't much interaction. 

Why?

I LOVED this book.  To the point that I was really super sad when it ended.  Because I wanted more.

I laughed.

I cried.

I cried hysterical tears during the scene when the Deliverance and the Patience rolled into Jamestown.

I marvelled at the strength of these people.

I wanted to wring the neck of some lazy bastards.

I wanted to say 'It will be OK...it turns out OK' to these people...but they can't hear me...

And I got more of a history lesson that I had ever ever hoped for.

Can you imagine departing on a small ship, bound for a New World, while leaving one child behind in England and taking one with you?

To cross the Atlantic...in a Hurricane...arriving to find inadequate food or housing...and knowing that it was 'sink or swim'?

If you want to read a really awesome amazing piece of historical fiction, this is your book. 

I have not felt this passionately about a novel in a LONG time...but I even rattled on in detail to The Husband when he called right after I finished and I was so full of 'good book afterglow' that I was about ready to burst!

This is her website....enjoy!

Freaking out a bit...

I see my therapist on Tuesday, so this is rather timely.

I am freaking out over The Husband coming home.

I really really am.

I had planned on him being gone until April or May, and to know that there is a 99.8% chance that he is coming home at the end of January is still effing with my mind.

Our budget has been reworked, and it is totally doable.

I've reworkd the budget and it is still doable.

Guess what...I reworked the budget, and it is still doable.

I'm still spazzing...because that is what I do best.

I tried living on our tight budget this pay period, but it got blown all to crapola when The Husband had to pull $100 out of the account of some expenses.   Then Kiddo busted out of his last pair of Stride Rites, so the trip to Shoe Carnival for a new pair turned into a $55 venture.  I will say, I got two pairs of Skechers, 10% off and they were Buy One get One Half Off.  Oh yeah, and then I had to register him at his back up daycare for the days that his Preschool is closed for weather/elections/random bullshit.  That was $75.   Craaap.

So, back to square one.  We have savings to dip into if needed, just like we will after The Husband gets home.

But what if I don't get a good job?  What if no one wants to hire me because I am 'overqualified'?  That is a TRUE fear.  That people will see my work history and KNOW that I am uber qualified, and not want me because they think I will be asking for too much money.  I KNOW that I won't be making what I made before, ever again, and I am super dooper ok with that.

So I spent yesterday at the Library listening to Calculator Boy, American to Italy Foreign Exchange Student chick, and Chick Who Asked WAY Too Many Questions Study.   While I was listening to them lament about the SATs (sweet God....what I wouldn't give to have that be my only problem in life)...I redid my resume.

I dumbed it down.

I did.

I took out duties.  I left out responsibilities.

I made me sound pretty average.

And I printed out twenty of them, along with a bubbly upbeat 'excited about a new career!' cover letter and sent them to local physician's offices in hopes of a part time position.

Because I am absolutely not dealing well with not having a job. 

I'm freaking terrified. 

Even though our checkbook is comfortable, and the bills are all nicely paid.   We have savings.

But I am NOT CONTRIBUTING!  I feel useless and honestly, I am getting a little bored.

I drop off Kiddo...run to class.  After class I eat lunch while I work on classwork.  Then I go to the YMCA for an hour and walk on the treadmill.    Then The Husband calls and we talk on my way to the library.  Then I'm at the library for an hour or more working on class work.  Pick up Kiddo, and home.

Fridays I am off.

Which is KILLING me.  I don't like having this many days to do nothing with. 

Yes, I study, and clean, and sort....laundry, groceries, etc.

It's hard to explain.

But I am a little over not having a job.  

I know I know...I am not wasting time.  But still.....

*sigh*

But today we went to the Pumpkin Patch for a little friend's birthday.  If you remember Sweetie from many many posts ago. 

He had a blast...and busted his lip...but he's fine now.