The Chair

I have this chair that belonged to my grandmother. It’s a terrible almost crushed velvet in emerald green. The arms are well worn and the head rest is covered in years of White Rain hairspray from when she would rock in it while drinking her umpteenth cup of coffee for the day. It was her favorite piece in her living room, and it has now become my favorite piece in my living room.

It was given to me shortly before my grandfather’s passing. As dying people do, he was giving away the less meaningful or not previously claimed items in his possession and gifted me the chair a long with a well loved vanity and two retro end tables. I hadn’t really wanted the chair but he insisted I needed it even though I already had been given my mother’s wooden rocker. I brought the green chair home and sat it up next to one of the end tables in my living room and soon found myself sitting in it frequently. It didn’t take long before I was rocking Robbie in it at nap time. It was comforting. It was almost like having my grandmother there with me, as if she was somehow getting to be with her great granddaughter and I during those precious moments.

Sometime later I moved into my current residence and the chair found itself neglected and covered in unfolded laundry and toys. I had completely forgotten its power and warmth until one evening Josiah was fussy and I was struggling to calm him on the couch. I shoved everything into the floor and took to rocking him. Soon he was softly snoring in my arms. Since that day I have rocked him at almost every bedtime in the chair while telling Zach that we can never get rid of it.

Tonight after putting Josiah to bed, I gathered Robbie up in my lap and rocked her to sleep for the first time in a few years. As she nuzzled her sweet little face into the crook of my arm and drifted off peacefully, I thought of my grandparents and how they couldn’t have known that the chair would make its way into my home and be used to comfort my babies when they purchased it over two decades ago. I thought of my grandmother with her chipped white coffee mugs filled to the brim with microwaved instant Folger’s and a napkin pressed to the bottom of the mug, gently rocking while resting before she would go out to bring the cattle in to milk in the afternoons. I thought of countless hours spent cross legged, computer in my lap, with my phone resting on the arm softly playing music as I typed out stories, read, or studied. I thought of my husband and children and how I want this chair to be significant in their memories when they look back. I thought of how something so ordinary can mean so much, which lead me to share my feelings with you, Dear Reader. If you don’t already, I hope that some day you find an everyday item that has great sentimental value and you reflect on the emotions and memories tied to it.

In Which, I Rant.

Good Morning Dear Reader. Today I’m frustrated. I am just flat out irritated. I’ve been working on a project at work for almost a month and it is going no where. It’s making me so mad. I’m someone who takes a lot of pride in my work and I strive to give the best customer service possible. So as you can imagine, I’m taking this pretty personal.

Which I’m finding is a trend in my life. I take everything personal.

Because I was frustrated, I stopped at my favorite coffee shop in town on my way to work to type this. I love that place. They staff is great, the drinks are always the perfect temperature, and they’re a business ministry that helps women who are ex-convicts rehabilitate, assimilate, and find gainful employment. But this morning when they barista was like “OH! Congratulations! When are you due? “ I immediately thought “WHY? DO I LOOK LIKE A COW OR SOMETHING?”…

Really Alex? This chick is someone you see occasionally through the drive through window, of course she didn’t know you were pregnant. AND, she gave you a free drink because clearly you’re sleep deprived, which she could tell that from the huge bags under your eyes. Don’t be such a psycho hose beast.

I should just punch myself in the face for that one.

I really need to learn that not everything is an attack. I also need to learn how to keep my emotions in check when I haven’t slept and am so pregnant that I make an elephant’s gestational period look short.

I think it’s going to be one of those days Dear Reader.

I better go get another tea. I’m going to need it.

The Cross

Happy Sunday Dear Reader. I'm crabby this evening. Tomorrow is Zach's birthday, so I baked his cake earlier. Do you know how hard it is to bake a cake when you can't have any? Gestational diabetes is stupid and I miss carbs.

Anyway.

After my sappy last post, you learned just how dramatically my life has changed over the course of the year. I had originally planned on writing more about that today but I'm just not feeling sentimental and mushy. Instead I'm just going to tell you about a moment in time I keep replying in my head.

In my hometown there is gigantic white cross off the East side of the highway. It sits in the middle of an open field that was clearly farmland at some point and has since found itself the future home of a Christian learning center and proud holder of said cross. The piece of property is the typical heartland beauty, fence rows lined with scrubby trees, Bermuda grass growing in wild patches, handfuls of little weed like flowers are scattered over the area. It's simple and still somehow breathtaking.

When that cross was erected, I remember being in awe of it's beauty and being ashamed that my little town would support such an obvious waste of funds that could have gone to the school or some charity. I was just torn emotionally on the landmark, but I still found myself driving by it with Robbie and telling her why it was there and what it meant.

I should mention that at the time, my relationship with myself and any form of organized religion was quite strained. I wanted to believe in God, but I felt like I was standing outside of the fence while I watched other people find themselves and their faith.

I wasn't part of the crowd. I was uninvited.

On one particularly bad day I was driving home from my mother's house when something just hit me. I wanted to disappear, to end all of my struggle. At the same time I was passing that cross. I couldn't help but notice the line of trees on the fences and I thought something along the lines of how it was a perfect representation of my life. Forever kept on the outside. Never getting to cross over and join the crowd and always lonely. I was so angry with God and myself and the world. How could I just be pushed to the side like that time after time? Why should I be forced to carry such hurt in my heart constantly?

Flash forward to present day. I have clearly dealt with many of my issues, and I'm doing much better mentally thanks to hard work and a whole lot of love and support from Zach. But that day still nags at me. I can hear the thoughts in my head. I can see the the cross and the trees kind of blur as I drive past. I can feel the same anguish. I just can't get past this small paragraph in my story.

Last Sunday at church the message was good as usual, but it hit home for Zach. Something resonated with him and he had a moment that was absolutely heartbreaking and healing all at once. It was something I had never experienced or witnessed before. He just simply let go.

If you've ever seen this happen before, you know exactly what I'm talking about. Something just changes in the room. It is serious and inspirational, and most likely at least a handful of people will cry. It's very intense and basically indescribable.

I know you're thinking that I just jumped topics here, but we are coming full circle. Seeing my husband experience something so personal and monumental has weighed on my mind greatly. He was raised in the church, so this is nothing new for him. But when you are someone who is new to the fold, it has a much deeper impact.

What if seeing that brought the cross memory to the forefront of my mind because it's time to just simply let go of all of my baggage? How does one even begin? I have so many unanswered questions and I am searching for answers, but what if that was my answer? This is something that is going to take some pondering, praying, and a lot of coffee to figure out. But maybe, just maybe, for the first time in my life I am on the path to being a whole, healed, soul.

Blog Mom, Blog!: Welcome Home

Blog Mom, Blog!: Welcome Home: Good morning, Dear Reader. It's been entirely too long since I've posted anything. Partly because I haven't had any inspiration,...

Welcome Home

Good morning, Dear Reader. It's been entirely too long since I've posted anything. Partly because I haven't had any inspiration, but mostly because I have been extremely busy. I'm not entirely certain where I left you, but let me catch you up. Robbie's father and I split up, I met a wonderful man named Zach, got a promotion at Panera, left Panera for a job with a credit union, got married and pregnant, got a promotion at the credit union, moved to be closer to work, and now we're two months out from my our son, Josiah, being born.

I've crammed what normal people go through in the span of like five years into roughly a year, give or take a few months.

And I couldn't be happier. I find myself thanking God daily that so much changed so quickly. No, it isn't easy by any means. Zach and I struggle daily, but I've finally found someone who knows how to handle just how neurotic I am. We actually talk about our issues, usually before they become an issue, and he loves me. He truly loves Alex and all that happens in Alexland.

Plus he is so damn handsome and he enjoys energy drinks just as much as I do. It was destiny.

Seriously though, my life has dramatically changed for the better. My credit score couldn't be worse, but my finances are stable. I'm not in constant danger of my home being ripped away from me. My daughter gained an amazing father who is kind and patient and learned all of the names of the ponies in Equestria because she loves My Little Pony. I'm excited about having another baby (and maybe one or two more in the future) even though I swore I would never have anymore kids after Robbie was born. The in-laws I gained absolutely bend over backwards to help us if and when we need it, especially my mother in law. I don't know how she puts up with us.

And it's football season. *PISTOLS FIRING!*

For the first time in my adult life, I feel that life is beautiful. How can one person be so blessed?

Alex Laments. Episode:75984596295627465

As usual, Alexland is just mass chaos. I know that’s why you come here, Dear Reader. My hectic life and wild thoughts are your guilty pleasures. Kind of like when you see a People magazine headline that you just can’t not look at while standing in line to check out at the grocery store, only better. Because my drama is legit.

Anyway. The last time I had written, I told you I had just received a promotion at Panera Bread and was super stoked to start training. Since then, things have just gotten wildly out of hand, like life tends to do. In this time of utter nonsense, I’m finding myself in survival mode more often than not. I think as humans, this is what we do out of habit.

Sometimes survival mode is necessary to protect your sanity, your loved ones’ sanity, and also your bank account (so you don’t spend all of your money on Red Bull and menthol cigarettes. Not that I would know, because I have never purchased either of those items EVER in my life.) But often times, if we would just look whatever is plaguing us in the face, we could avoid trudging through the days, barely keeping our heads above water.

My point in bringing this up is, I need to learn how to look my demons in the face. I was recently told by someone very dear to me that they are impressed with how I handle the stress in my personal life. To this I replied “I don’t handle anything. I just pretend nothing is happening, throw myself in to my work, sleep very little, and caffeinate too much.” While this is a good coping mechanism for the first day or so, it keeps me from growing as a person through all of my trials and tribulations.

It could also probably cause me to look like death warmed over on my first day of a new job where I really felt like I needed to dazzle everyone since I could hypothetically have previous experience in the field.

Again, not that I would know from personal experience, I just assume.

Anywho. Growing as a person from major life events is rather important, and it dawned on me earlier this evening while listening to a loved one pray, that I really needed to work on growth; and that the only way for me to grow is to either A.) put my big girl boots on and handle it, or 2.) hand whatever the problem is over to God, and trust that he is going to work it out with/for me.

Both of these options are pretty damn scary. I mean, being an adult and actually acting like one? That is not for the faint of heart. But handing over your problems to some unknown supreme being and just trusting that he’s going to help you get through whatever is happening? That feels similar to walking through the living room at night, trusting that your child picked up all the legos off the floor like you told them to do a million times before they went to bed. Terrifying, isn’t it?

All I know is, we as people have to learn to buck up. Whether that means you charge head on at whatever life throws at you or you hand it over to whatever deity of your choosing, it has to be done.

You will thank yourself later for it, and not just because you won’t be in the poorhouse for spending all of your hard earned cash on caffeinated beverages.

Panera Promotions

Hello, Dear Reader. It's been almost a month since my last post, and I have much to write about. But today I am going to tell you about how I am literally drowning at work. So I think I've told you I got a promotion and that I was going to start training for my new position soon. Well, I've started training, and I am about halfway through. 

Each day that passes I wonder more and more why my superiors thought it was such a swell idea to move me up the chain of command; because all I really do is avoid any actual work and burn anything I have to bake during the day.

I guess my charming, sarcastic personality and my insatiable appetite for sucking up worked in my favor.

Anyway, it has been a pretty big disaster on the work front. While I can pick something up quickly, I can't seem to retain about half the information I'm being given, so I just walk around saying "I-I-I-I, I just...I JUST DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MY HANDS." Which is basically Alex Code for "Pardon my behavior, I am currently suffering a panic attack." No one seems to notice though. I guess that's because I am in a constant state of caffeine induced panic.

On a serious note, I am beyond thankful for this opportunity. I just hope my bosses don't decide that having to tell me I'm doing just fine 500 times a day isn't worth having an extra set of hands on the management team.

Jolliest Asshole This Side of the Nuthouse.

It's Thanksgiving here in the US, Dear Reader. You know what that means? It means it's almost Christmas, and my mood is steadily declining. Holiday season is super rough for me, mostly because it's freaking cold and I'm actual a reptile wearing a human suit to keep warm. But also because I always feel like I don't have enough arms on my body or hours in my day to get things done and visit with my loved ones.

So I fuel my already anxious and sleep deprived brain with red bull, coffee, and an occasional drag of nicotine.

Okay not so much nicotine. I haven't smoked in about 4 years. But thinking about the impending holiday is making me want to smoke an entire pack of camel crush menthols and drink a case of the cheapest boxed wine. (Mom, if you're reading this, on your way to my house tomorrow, you know what I need for the store now. *insert winky face emoji*)

We all cope in our own ways.

Anyway back to the point of this post. Christmas is coming which means work is getting busier because people NEED 66,000,000 bagel packs and 72 loaves of holiday bread, and I'm about to start training for a new position, and we just opened a drive thru. I am beyond stressed. So I started asking my coworkers how they handle their holiday stress. No one had any good answers. Which makes me wonder, why do we make such a fuss over the holiday season?

I mean, yeah, your buttface brothers come in to town, pin you down, and give you indian burns and pink bellies (this is from personal experience), and maybe you're grandma gets drunk and passes out in the living room floor before anyone has even sat down to eat dinner, but is it worth all the freaking out?

No. No it isn't. So I challenge you, Dear Reader, to relax this holiday season. Don't have any gigantic meltdowns, and don't yell at your coworkers because they're messing with you and your shift ended 2 hours ago and you're ready to leave, and then try to make up for it by bringing candy to work the next day. Just chill out and enjoy all the dysfunction, chaos, and alcohol....errr...I mean cookies. I totally meant cookies.

What Happened In Here?

It's Sunday morning, Dear Reader. Are you gearing up for your impending doom...I mean work week? I'm not. I'm sitting at the kitchen table, drinking cold coffee that I forgot I had made until Robbie came walking over to me drinking it, and procrastinating. Procrastination isn't really something I take part in often *because there are not enough hours in my day* but I'm making an exception for today. Can you guess why? I'll just tell you. 

My house hasn't been thoroughly cleaned in about two weeks. It literally looks like a bomb went off in here. And it smells like the inside of a sweaty wool sock. I have about three weeks worth of laundry to fold, and a week's worth to wash. Also, the bathroom cabinet contents seem to have spontaneously combusted at some point during the madness of last week. 

I should insert a picture of the state of my living room floor right now. But it is cringe worthy. So I'm not going to.

I feel like I'm drowning in responsibilities. I felt like that as a stay at home mom too, but I actually got shit done then. Now I'm getting up at 3 am to be at work by 5 am, and getting home at about 3:30 pm, which means I rush through cooking dinner, paying bills online, and doing a load of laundry so I can have Robbie in bed by 7 pm and I can be asleep by 7:30 pm. It's kind of a recipe for disaster and embarrassment.

If my mother saw the way my house looks right now, she would be forced into an early grave. But not before she yelled at me for being a slob. 

I keep telling myself I am going to get a giant calendar to hang in my kitchen, and on said calendar I will plan my weekly chores. *I aim to be one of those got her shit together Pinterest moms* But it never happens. And even if I did get one, I don't follow my weekly plans on the giant calendar by my bed, and I'm constantly writing things in my planner and forgetting about it. So what's the point in wasting effort and money on another calendar?

Because office supplies and caffeine are my life blood, that's the point.

Anyway, I should probably get up and do something productive with this day. Mostly I just need to get up to change what is streaming on the TV right now, because "Mitkey Kissmass" is playing for the gabillionth time and I've had enough of that crap.

So I've been gone for two weeks now. Sorry about that. I've been busy with work training and kid stuff, and I'm still recovering from a week long migraine/virus. It's been hectic around here.

Anyway.

Cameron and I are HUGE animation fans. Our Amazon video library is mostly Disney and a hand full of Pixar movies. And with having a 2 year old, you can imagine that the TV is always playing something child friendly. Well today I decided to watch Toy Story because Robbie hasn't seen it, also I apparently needed a good cry.

Watching this movie made me think of all the animated flicks that will make a person a little misty, and I started to wonder if the creators of these shows are really just black hearted, soulless, torturous assholes who wish to make adults sad.

Look at Inside Out. I know loads of kids and adults loved that movie, but it was far from a happy tale. The little girl the emotions belonged to was clearly depressed, AND THERE WAS NO REAL RESOLUTION AT THE END. I hated that one. It reminded me and millions of others of our terrible early teen years. Who makes a movie like that?

Oh that's right, the original buttfaces who gave us tearjerkers like Bambi, The Fox and The Hound, Lion King, and Dumbo. Then they made Andy grow up and get over playing with all of his toys. Jerks. I guess they weren't satisfied with the damage they did to our feels with the first Toy Story, because they made two more.

There was also Up. We don't talk about the crying that happens in my house when that one comes on. It was so not meant for children. They just can't get the complexity of the grumpy old man.

And what about when Ray dies in The Princess and The Frog? He finally gets to be with Evangeline. Insert multiple crying emojis.

My point is, we are all gluttons for punishment and the kid flick creators know it. So they stab at our feels while entertaining our children, AND WE PAY THEM FOR IT.

Wimpy, wimpy, wimpy.

Today I am coming at you from an over caffeinated state. I drank a Red Bull, and now I’m having coffee. I am pregaming for my loooonnngggg day. I’m a bundle of nerves, as I have a ton of stuff happening, and my financial well being is going to be determined by the day’s outcome. Also, we start training for the drive thru at work this week. And while I am surprised at my excitement, I am super worried about to how it is going to go the first few times.

It’s stressful. I need the boost. Don’t judge me.

Anyway, Halloween is upon us. This means I’m watching and reading everything spooky. This also means I am having crazy nightmares, because I’m a wimp.

I didn’t even watch anything scary yesterday, but I threw around the idea of reading The Diary of Ellen Rimbauer, which explains why I had horrible dreams about going to some weird estate sale and finding an original copy of an Ed and Lorraine Warren book that was about some murders and Lycanthropy that occurred in my home town.

First of all, the Warrens worked with demons. B, werewolves aren’t scary. So I’m not sure why it was so terrifying, but Lilly Rabe was in it. And she was the evil nun she played in AHS: Asylum. Except for she was actually convincing in my dream, unlike in the show.

 Side note Rabe should just stick to playing good hearted characters. She just seems too sweet to be evil.

Tonight I think I’ll watch a Disney princess movie in hopes that I don’t have any more nightmares involving the Warrens. Not that I don’t absolutely admire their work, I just don’t feel like waking up screaming again.

Sunrises, Travel, and Dreams.

Hello Dear Reader. Today has been rather rough. I woke up hangry and overwhelmed. But I’m feeling much better now that I’ve had a nice long nap. I had a hard time writing this morning. I had loads of topics, but nothing seemed to sound right once it was on paper. And then I thought, why not just ramble?

Because your mind is like one of those toys for kids in the doctor’s office with the beads that you move across the intertwined wires, Alex. That’s why we don’t ramble on the blog.

So, I guess I won’t just type whatever.

Anyway, I’m staring out my living room window right now. It’s a sunny, windy, typical Fall day in Oklahoma, and I wish I was out enjoying it. I think today would have been the perfect day for getting up before the sun, finding a place to watch the sunrise, and snapping a few pictures while drinking coffee and enjoying the stillness.

I know I talk about sunrises all the time, but morning really is my favorite time of the day. And in my opinion, sunrises are a thousand times more beautiful than sunsets. Sunsets remind me of loss and heartache. But sunrises remind me of all the possibilities and paths that are in my life. Sunrises are comforting.

I am aware of how silly that sounded. It is how I truly feel. Cut me some slack.

I think it would be amazing to travel around the country and capture the sunrise everyday. Just getting to travel a little would be amazing. The wanderer in my soul is getting a little restless lately. I haven't left Oklahoma in 3 years, and it would be a nice change of scenery to get the hell out of Mayes County and see what this world has to offer.

I’m a little envious of those who can afford to travel. It isn’t a luxury I have in my life. Having a small child and a dog means I am strapped to Mayes County for awhile. Not that that is a bad thing or that I regret it. I just wish that I would have moved around some more before I had Robbie.

My soul needs to experience something moving, and it is hard to come by such events around here. Unless of course it is a tragedy. We, unfortunately, have plenty of those to go around. I guess that is why people leave the towns the grew up in, isn't it? To escape the monotonous, and tragic.

Maybe one day I will be able to leave this area and see what is out there. For now I will just continue to watch the sunrises and stare out my living room window.

Work Hard, Dress Smart.

I don't normally post on Thursdays, but today was a pretty good day, so why not? I'm window shopping on Amazon, which is something I usually reserve for purses, shoes, and watches, but today is different. Today I am totally looking at power suits. Yes, you read that right, I am looking at all things business professional. After years of working in the finance realm, I enjoy a pair of good quality, reasonably priced slacks, and the hunt is always challenging finding said slacks.

When I was a little girl growing up in the 90's, everything was all about girl power (thank you Spice Girls), so obviously I imagined myself as some big shot businesswoman with a corner office, a $200 haircut, and a wardrobe so sharp it would make you scream "owe!" when I walked by. This was also partly influenced by my mother who was a big shot businesswoman. Except, back then, I saw myself doing something with writing or music, and my mom worked for a rather successful trucking company (more on that later, because there is a hilarious story to go along with power clothing) so I was SO not going that route because it sounded boring. Anywho, I assumed by the time I was 25 I'd be a record label executive on Music Row, or an editor at some publishing firm in New York. And yet, here I sit, 25 years old, in a rocking arm chair I inherited from my grandmother, on my day off from my low man on the totem pole job, one town away from the one I grew up in, flat broke, and writing a blog on the iPad I could only afford because its cost was rolled into my tuition at the college I dropped out of.

Sounds depressing, right? Well you're wrong. Yeah, so I'm not where I assumed I'd be. But I didn't actually make the plans to get there when I was a kid. Now that I'm older, and less naïve, I realize being a top dog in any company at 25 years old is pretty freakin' rare, and takes so much more time and dedication than I had to give until recently. Also, those young professionals who did make it to the top early probably devoted their hard earned high school job cash to their wardrobe, and I didn't. I spent mine on cheap whiskey and take out, and one fire red designer handbag (That bag was life. I wish I still had it.)

I know you're wondering about that last sentence, hopefully not about the whiskey and take out, or the handbag part, trust me my mother was kept in the dark about those shenanigans, but seriously dressing the part is crucial. I went to high school with a kid we all swore would be president some day. This kid was hardly ever seen in anything but nicely pressed oxfords and creased jeans. Guess what, that guy turned out to be pretty darn successful as an adult. Why? Well he worked really hard, and he dressed very smart.

I watched a Ted Talk once about power posing and its impact on your confidence. Basically the speaker, Amy Cuddy, found through a study that standing in positions that symbolized power, you could increase your self confidence a little. Totally makes sense right? Well I wondered if the same went for dressing well, and I conducted my own little experiment through out my many interviews I've had in the last few months. And it works. I felt like I looked like I owned/belonged/was perfect for whatever position I was interviewing for, which made me more confident in my abilities, and made my interviews go as smooth as silk. Clearly I didn't get any of those jobs, but I did get recognition on my professionalism/humor, and my attire more than once. All of that inflated my already rather large ego to XXXL, and I have had even better interviews since. Dressing smarter also made me feel more comfortable with myself in front of total strangers who wanted to know every little detail about my work history, and a few details about my blog.

So I'm assuming there is a lot to be said about a person who dresses for the job all the time, and I'm wondering if I should start stocking up on power suits to aid in my efforts to the top. Which brings us back full circle to my window shopping on Amazon. My only problem is, who has the cash to drop on a slick suit, and then pay to get it altered? I certainly don't...not yet at least.

Kids Suck.

I know, I know, I'm posting later than I usually do. Sorry about that. I have a legit reason though. I usually write/edit on Sunday afternoons, because I'm typically off work. But I wasn't off yesterday. And I'm not sure if it's allergies or a cold, but I started feeling terrible Saturday, so after work yesterday I sat under my heated blanket on the couch and re-watched Making A Murderer.

Can you forgive me? I promise next week I will post on time!

Anyway, I'm watching my kiddo run around the living room, and I keep having this vision of the weird kid at school who runs everywhere...and they run really funny. That is probably Robbie's future, unfortunately. Her dad claims to have been the weird kid, and he is not athletic. I was just generally disliked. I wan't weird, and I was pretty athletic, but I just didn't fit in. Not that I cared, I was too busy listening to the most emo music possible while smearing eyeliner all over my face and spiking up my boy short hair in an attempt to look as "punk" as possible.

I actually looked pretty cute with spikey hair. Just in case you were wondering. And I was a total bad ass.

Anyway I'm telling you all of this is because I was reminded of just how hard school actually was for me, and I hope my daughter has an easier time than I did.

Kids are total assholes, did you know that? I was bullied left and right from elementary all the way up to graduation. In eighth grade, a kid pantsed me in the hallway while I was stapling stuff up on a wall. It was embarrassing, only for the fact that I totally was wearing a thong, and it had been revealed to everyone. My bad reputation was solidified.

*Intercom comes on "That's right classmates, Alex Jones is a confirmed delinquent. SHE WEARS THONGS."* Que the pearl clutching and shocked/distraught gasps.

Thankfully no one, but the jack ass who pantsed me, thought it was funny. Although I'm sure if any of you who witnessed this incident are reading, you're laughing hysterically.

Stop laughing. It still isn't funny.

Okay, maybe it's a little funny now.

In a high school English class, a girl told me how I was single handedly responsible for creating some guy's reputation as a "male slut". I swiftly replied how it was ironic that her family could afford to buy anything they wished for, but they chose not to buy her liposuction after she got fat.

I was the asshole there, and so was everyone else in the class, because they all laughed.

My point is, kids are such jerks, and I'm kind of horrified at what my daughter's future could be like. I know it is many years down the road, but how do I prepare for all the crap she might face? Do I just keep hoping that Robbie will be well liked, a good student, and a nice person? This parenting gig has some really rough stuff you have to deal with, and I often wonder if I will make enough good calls to lead her down a happy, successful road.

I guess we will see what happens, right?

The Great PSL

It's finally Fall. Which means it's basically Halloween. Which means I'm going broke buying all the Disney Channel Halloween movies on Amazon because I HAVE to watch Halloweentown everyday and I don't have satellite anymore. Halloween is my second favorite season and holiday (Yes, Halloween is a season. Don't try to convince me otherwise). In celebration of the second most wonderful time of the year, I had my first ever Pumpkin Spice Latte yesterday. I know I'm late to the game. But cut me some slack. I like hot tea, Red Bull, and actual coffee. So steamed milk with sugary syrup was not anywhere on my radar. However, I've been embracing my inner basic white girl lately, so I gave it a shot. *haha espresso pun*

Anyway, we happened to be driving by a restaurant chain that recently launched their take on this widely popular drink, and I thought why the hell not? 

At first I wasn't terribly disappointed. It was smooth, not too hot, and had whipped cream on the top. But the more I drank of this concoction, the more I wondered what all the hype was about.

First of all, the price of a small cup is equivalent to the price of a healthy human kidney on the black market. B, it doesn't taste even remotely like pumpkin, or the spice used to jazz up pumpkin purée for pumpkin pie. Lastly, there isn't enough caffeine in it to support my habit. 

I guess I just can't taste what is so appealing to folks around the world that they would set count downs on their phones and camp out in front of Starbucks, waiting to grab the first few brews of the season. Is this just some grand marketing scheme created by the coffee industry/Starbucks? I mean they have swindled me out of a good $21ish dollars in the last couple of months with their Coconut Milk Macchiato, which is really just iced coffee poured over coconut milk, so it is reasonable that this PSL craze is all just a ploy to get us to spend our hard earned dollars on subpar coffee drinks.

While I will never understand the hype, there is clearly a reason why people all over the world flock to the Great Pumpkin Spice Latte like it is a saving grace in the fall. I'm going to get weird here and blame it on subliminal messaging, probably placed in all those Halloweentown sequels that I've been watching.

A Day on the Farm.

Happy first day of fall, Dear Reader. Here in Oklahoma, it's still hotter than hell on a bad day for Satan, but the meteorological professionals on the television keep promising cooler weather is on its way. I know better, however. This is Oklahoma for cryin' out loud. We get two seasons, Quakenado (Summer), and Blizzaquakenado (Winter). I'm not even kidding. Last Christmas Eve we had a tornado warning and a winter weather advisory for the same areas all day. In true Okie form, no one paid any mind to the warnings and we all celebrated our holiday.

Anyway, I'm not here to tell you about the Oklahoma weather patterns, or lack there of. No, my friend, today I'm going to tell you a little story about my grandmother, and a gorilla.

So many years ago there used to be an animal farm down the road from my house. Actually, the animal farm is still there but it is owned by a different person now. And they call it a sanctuary I believe. Anyway at the time it was one of those drive thru zoo attractions but it had a petting zoo and a few caged beasts. It was great fun, for me anyway. My poor Grandma took me there frequently and was probably bored to tears every time we went, except for the last time.

The very last time we went started out pretty normal. We drove through and saw the camels and zebras and the handful of llamas the farm had roaming around. We went to the petting zoo and I fed the baby llama that wasn't really a baby anymore. It chewed on my ear, and then spit at one of the fawns that was running around because that llama was certain that the fawn was going to steal its food and my attention. The llama was right. Eventually we migrated to the big caged animal area where there lived a giant, and I mean giant, monkey. I said earlier that it was a gorilla, and in my mind it was, but in all actuality, it was probably a chimp. This dude was old. He was rather grumpy and just ignored visitors when they came by. But for whatever reason, he was full of piss and vigor that day. He did a few typical monkey things, made some noise, threw around his toys, acted generally silly. I guess all that showing off made him thirsty so he reached through the cage and grabbed a piece of cut up garden hose, stuck it in his stock tank full of water, and got a big cool drink.

Of course I thought this was the best thing ever. I had yet to see this primate do much of anything but sit around and ignore everyone. I told Grandma how neat it was and she agreed. We stood there examining him for a bit when out of nowhere that old asshole spit that big drink of water he had taken all over my poor elderly grandmother. The monkey smiled a big yellow toothed smile, and laughed to himself. I'm certain I fell over from laughing so hard. But poor Grandma, she was mortified.

She marched straight over to the visitor's center and told the receptionist all about the monkey's awful behavior. Of course everyone in the office found the incident to be hilarious, but still, Grandma was not amused.

Later that day when my mom came to pick me up after work, Grandma told Mom what had happened. I distinctly remember Mom stifling her laughter as my distraught grandmother shuddered and said "And, oh, he smiled with those big yellow teeth!"

I will never forget that last trip to the animal farm, and I will never forget the look on my grandmother's face as that monkey spit all over her!

Ahh, Sunday Morning.

Good morning, Dear Reader. It's a lovely Sunday, AND I FINALLY HAVE A DAY OFF FROM WORK!!! I was even able to sleep past my typical 4:45am wake up call, without the help of a sleep aide. I don't know if you can hear it but, there are angels singing songs of rejoice in my honor. It is glorious.

You know what isn't glorious, though? Sleeping next to your toddler.

Per her usual routine, Robbie woke up at 5am, got in our bed, and we all tried to rest peacefully. And at first we managed this. But then I started dreaming about the book I've been reading. (Gary L. Stewart's account of trying to find his birth father, and discovering his father was the Zodiac Killer. Super creepy, but I can't put it down.) Being that I am quite the sissy and couldn't return to sleep, I laid beside my sleeping toddler, quietly, when out of nowhere, the smelliest of smelly toddler feet smacked me right in the face.

Unsure of what to do, for fear I might awaken my child, I just suffered and suffocated under her toes and foot stank. It was awful. But it gets worse. Soon I found my face being crushed by BOTH of her stinky feet. Unable to stand the stench anymore, I rolled over to face away from her. At last I could breathe, and I was beginning to tire, so I decided to go back to sleep.

I'm certain I was starting to snore about the time the kicking to my back began, so I am sure I deserved that. But what came next was unjust. In my half asleep haze, I rolled back over believing I would cuddle with my sweet sleeping baby. But there were no cuddles to be had. Oh no. In place of the cuddles that should have been, my child gave me the gift of possible decapitation. She slashed her arms through the air, coming down directly on my windpipe. Still in fear of waking of the child, I tried to cough and sputter in to the blanket. My attempts were spurned by my child's head butting straight in to my chest. Such action surely left a bruise on my sternum. In my head I screamed in pain, but only bit my lip to keep from crying out and awakening the storm that is my offspring.

Blankets and pillows began to fly as my little darling pelted me with anything that was within her am's reach, and I began to realize that the entire time I believed my child was sleeping wildly, she was in fact very much awake.

I was hurt and insulted by her mischievous behavior, but I was unwilling to get out of my warm bed at the time, so I continued pretending to sleep. It was not long before I was found out, and demands for cereal and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse began. Defeated and battered, I limped into the living room to provide the solution to my child's demands and begin typing this for you, Dear Reader. In the event that I should pass away due to my injuries, or am suffocated by my toddler's beloved blankie at nap time, please remember me as I always was, dramatic, sarcastic, and over caffeinated.

Prayers, Poo, and Coffee.

Today I have a lot on my mind. Which is basically how I am everyday. But today is different. Today I am questioning my choice of going back to work full time. See, at 5 am, Robbie woke up crying. I assume she was cold, despite the mountain of blankets and stuffed animals she keeps in her bed. I can't blame her. I was also under a mountain of blankets and I was cold. Anyway, Cameron put her in our bed and the three of us snoozed peacefully until the alarm clocks started going off an hour later, and then there were demands for "seril, stooms, ohmel, Mitkey, and chocit stawbees mahl" (20 points to Gryffindor if you can translate all of that.) In the midst of the morning demands and the rush to get Cameron out the door for work, I realized at some point Robbie's diaper had leaked all over the place.

*insert mental eye rolls, sighs of exasperation, silent cursing, and a desperate search for the package of diapers*

This is where I started questioning my sanity and my will to provide for my family. My job called to see if I could come in today (Wednesday mornings can get scary over there), and I realized Robbie is almost 2 and a half. Which basically means she should be starting to potty train. And she is. At daycare. Because, I'm.Never.Home.Because.I.Work.ALL.THE.TIME.

I changed Robbie, hung up the phone, and put all of that out of my mind because I was being yelled at for not providing the immediate Mickey Mouse fix my little fiend needed. That is, until shortly before I started writing this, when my sweet little Shugie crouched down, farted so loud the house shook, and dropped the brown note.

Except for she didn't really "drop" anything. It went straight up her back.

I'm going to attribute the upwards motion of the poo to the three or four sips of coffee that were stolen out of my mug while I was fixing breakfast. I assume it was only three or four, but judging by her wild behavior post coffee thievery...it was more. A lot more.

So there I sat, dreading the doom that was contained in my child's pants/shirt. I could only imagine how terrible it would be. I was silently praying to God that he would provide me with magical diaper changing fairies or spontaneous potty training and perfect butt wiping skills for my child. There were thoughts of how I could possibly manage to full potty train my toddler on such little parental availability. There were tears of regret. This was the end.

In my mind, judgement day had arrived. This was my punishment for all of my sins. Eternal damnation and diaper explosions. Hell was real, my friends.

As it turns out, the mess wasn't as bad as I had expected, but the incident has left me with this nagging feeling of failure since I cannot work as diligently on potty training as I'd like (Thank you, workaholic tendencies.) It has also left the foul stench of toddler coffee poo in my living room and I am unsure of how to rid my house of such an atrocious odor.

So there you have it, Dear Reader, the contents of my mind today: Hell, poo explosions, potty training, and why in the world would I choose to return to work before said potty training was over.

Alex Laments. Episode 522.

Well hello, Dear Reader. Fancy meeting you here...I really shouldn't say that. I'm not entirely sure what it means, and obviously you're here because you read, and you like reading what I write. Soooo...

I believe some time ago I had promised I would write more when things calmed down in my life. Unfortunately my life has just gotten crazier and crazier. I finished out my last term in school for the year, in August, while working full time. That was, um, fun? But I did it, and I finished with like a 3.6 GPA. So pat me on the back and tell me I'm special. Because I am special, dammit. Now I'm working all the time. No seriously, like 6 days a week. That has not been fun. But it is necessary. There is hope on the horizon though. My employer has hired more staff, so I shouldn't be at work all the time anymore, and I've been working the job market a little. Pimping out my resume, if you will.

Wait, can you pimp out a resume that isn't impressive? Isn't that the point of putting your goods on the street? Because they're impressive and everyone wants them? I have no idea. My milkshakes DO NOT bring all the boys to the yard, so I'm probably going about this all wrong.

...anyway...I've been searching for gainful employment. Which basically means I've been thinking about how I wish I could work part time while receiving benefits and getting paid at least $1000.00 per hour. #realisticlifesgoal #igotsem. Obviously that is not going to happen. But I really have been considering what to do next, and what will be beneficial in my career path. I think I mentioned before that I had previously been majoring in surgical technology, because I couldn't afford the nursing program, but when the school announced it was closing I decided to pursue a creative writing degree? I still want to do that, but my heart is very much people oriented, and I need face to face interaction with folks to survive. I love people. So I've been tossing around majoring in healthcare admin or maybe a business focus of some sort, and minoring in writing. I mean, I've got to brush up my composition skills if I'm ever going to publish something note worthy. I still need to remind my brothers that I am better than they are and that I'm famous, and they're just butt faces. So a minor in creative writing is important. But trying to figure out my actual career path is hard. My heart  wants to be a healer, my wallet wants to be full, and my soul wants something that has family friendly hours. It's been a rather large task weighing the benefits and downfalls of everything, but doing so has made me realize just how much I really need more balance in my life.

I have NEVER been a balanced person. I zoom from one extreme to the next. I'm a workaholic and I prefer to always be busy. So when I started my current job, of course I offered to step up and work myself in to perpetual sickness (no really, since I started I've caught illness after illness, along with the majority of my coworkers). While this personality trait was a blessing before I had my daughter, it is now a curse. It leaves no room for family life, but it does improve the quality of the little bit of time we get together. The TV is playing more music, and we are all spending our time together instead of vegging out in front of Bob's Burgers re-runs. I just need and want to be home more. I'm missing out on so much. 

This time last year I was waking up to watch the sunrise and drink coffee while Robbie slept peacefully in bed. I was spending afternoons snuggling and playing with my little love. I was cooking every recipe I could get my hands on, and baking a new treat on the weekends. I didn't place enough value on those moments then. I knew they wouldn't last forever, but I didn't realize just how much I would miss them once they were gone. Now I am gone before Robbie or Cameron are awake in the mornings. I get home in just enough time to slap together dinner and spend maybe half an hour playing before it's time to go to bed. There is no meal made out of love. There is no baking. The sunrise is viewed in my rear view mirror. There is no rocking my girl or playing tea party with her. It's a strange place to be in. It isn't miserable. It is just unsatisfying. 

Which is sort of ironic, because this time has taught me so much about myself I didn't know. It has somehow made me into a better mother, a better person, a better student, a better employee, and strengthened my soul and my faith. I find myself almost admiring my growth. I am proud of who I am. 

I just want to enjoy who I've become with the ones I love more. 

So now I'm facing a very the very large project of making a path that will allow me to soak in those special moments again. I have no idea how or where to start, but I am going to make it happen. Some way, some how, I will get that balance that I need between career and family, and I will continue to grow. 

30 Days of Gratefulness: Day Five.

Well hello there dear readers! We are nearing the end of the first week of this challenge. What does everyone think thus far? Are you enjoying what I have to say? Are you inspired to write about what you are grateful for? Have the prompts been thought provoking for you? I didn't have any lofty goals of inspiring others with this. But if you are feeling the urge to write, DO IT! Share it with me! I would love to see what you've got to say! 

I want to take minute to say thank you for all the views and feedback I've gotten. I am always surprised at the amount of people who take time out of their busy day to read a piddly little blog that I put together. And not to brag, but it really is a lot of people. So yeah, thanks for reading, sharing, and liking!

Day five is about sounds. Like what specific sound you are grateful for. Can I just say music and use that as a blanket term for the vibrations that our ears sense? Is that cool with everyone? Yes? Okay, good.

So, music. Everyone I have ever met in my short little lifetime has been closely tethered to music in one way or another, whether they realize it or not. For me, music has always played a large part in my creative process. When I started writing I was an angst filled 13 year old who was fueled by tunes by bands like Good Charlotte and Evanescene. While I have since grown up and lost the majority of my moody sadness, I am still continually inspired by lyrics and melodies. Specifically a group called Purity Ring. If I want to write I just hop on YouTube and listen to a mix of their work and the words almost visably flow out of my fingers. It's like magic. Music has that power over pretty much everyone. It is as if music is the audible version of emotions and thoughts intensified by like a million. I'm sure there is some scientific mumbo jumbo behind why songs have such a great impact on humans, but I don't know it so I'm not going to cite it here. 

Moving right along, let's delve deeper into why I am so grateful for melodic noise. It brings people together, much like food. Little known fact: I love to sing and when I was in high school, I desperately wanted to be on Broadway. I was a talented dancer and my singing voice was pretty damn good. Now that I've grown up some and realized the stage would have eaten me alive, I belt out show tunes and twangy country songs at people for enjoyment. I do this so frequently that my two year old has started joining in the fun. Cameron has even been known to sing along on occasion. But he mostly waits for a Disney song to pop up. Who would have thought that the act of sliding my voice up and down the scales while speaking words has caused my little family to become closer knit? It's something we can all do and have fun at. And who doesn't love it when your family is getting along and not fighting over the Roku remote because half of you can't stand to watch another episode of Yu Gi O while the other half thinks it's the greatest show ever written?

I know you all have the same problem. Damn that Yu Gi O.

Music is also a decent sized chunk of my memory. Cameron used to call me a walking jukebox. But I'm not mentioning that here because I hold some knowledge about billboard topping hits. Instead, I am talking about my childhood and adolescence. I seem to have hazy memories of standing in my grandmother's kitchen while she cooked. She would be humming one song and then would start singing something else, probably from Elvis Presley, to herself. I always thought Grandma had a wonderful voice and looking back on those days gives me great joy now that she is gone. My mother also likes to sing. And she does it often. She used to spend countless hours in FYE combing over CDs with me. She's taken and sent me to loads of concerts. And she's given me one of her vintage tour shirts. But my favorite musical memory has less to do with music itself, and more to do with the atmosphere and the person I was with. But if it wasn't for the actual music, we would have never had this experience. My very best friend and I go to concerts together as often as life will allow, and this started sometime around our senior year of high school. One specific time she heard that Jeffree Star was playing a small local venue and that there were still tickets available. So we went and had the time of our lives. We danced, sang, touched J Star's leg, took pictures with him and another band. It was AMAZING. Since then, my friend and I have been to numerous shows together and we both cherish those memories deeply. 

I'm sure that I could continue writing about why I am so grateful for music but I'm going to leave it at this; music is at the heart of all of the important parts of my life. And without it I just wouldn't be the same Alex.