Let’s see … where to begin.

Two days ago, in the parking lot of a Piggly Wiggly, ONE asked an elderly woman who had the unfortunate luck of parking next to us if she “lives in a shoe.”

After I wrangled him into the car I explained the following:

Me: The story of the old woman who lives in a shoe is just a fairy tale.

ONE: What’s a fairy tale?

Me: It’s pretend. Make-believe. Imaginary.

ONE: Oh. Do you think she has a lot of kids?

Me: Who?

ONE: That lady.

Me.: I don’t know, ONE. Let’s just talk about something else.

ONE: Okay Mommy. Daddy ate a shrimp yesterday and it looked like a BOOTY.

*sigh*

Yesterday, we got up at 3:30 a.m. and drove back to Alabama. Husband had been home alone for 5 days and I was pretty impressed with the state of things when we arrived. He even made the bed. That hasn’t happened since we were dating and he was trying to woo me. However … there was no food in the house. Literally. So after we got home, unpacked, and played with all our new crap I loaded them BACK into the car to go to the grocery store.

We parked next to a huge, white truck with some sort of apparatus I can only assume is to hang dead deer from. The driver of this vehicle was a big, burly, mustached man who was obviously getting ready to make a trip into the woods. He had on camo and boots and a knife hung from his side.

ONE was mesmerized.

He said hi to the man and stared as he poured ice into something that looked like this:

http://www.beejaysleather.com

The man was polite enough to acknowledge us, but he was really into what he was doing and he seemed kind of … gruff. So I was pretty mortified when ONE called out to the man, “EXCUSE ME … WHY ARE YOU PUTTING ICE IN YOUR PURSE??“

His reply: “WHAT?! Men don’t carry purses, boy.”

I mean, we are in Alabama. People take gender pretty serious in these parts.

Anyone looking to purchase a townhouse in the Birmingham area?

If so, please contact me: workingmommymadness@gmail.com.

Overheard earlier today.

ONE: A Xanax? Why does Mommy need a Xanax?

Me: We were just kidding. Don’t repeat that.

Goodness gracious. Today was interesting.

I just attempted to type out everything that went wrong, but it was such a whiny, stupid list that I deleted it all. Because really, it doesn’t matter. Today I turned 32 and for the sake of my developing worry lines, I am going to focus on what went RIGHT.

1. ONE peed in the potty — standing up. Yes, he totally missed. Yes, he managed to piss all over the place. But still, I’m proud.

2. People I love sang “Happy Birthday” to me. My parents. It was just like old times, before I grew up and got myself a husband.

3. Speaking of that. Husband had to leave at 5 a.m. to catch a train, which was downright depressing, but he woke me up to kiss me and wish me a happy birthday. I love that weird, weird, man. 

4. TWO found his feet today. Maybe it will make him cry less. Or sleep more. 

Today, I took time to reflect on my life. A year ago, I was busting my ass at a corporate job and had just learned I was pregnant with our second child. Today, I am a stay-at-home mom who just noticed that I am graying. Considerably. I am exhausted and I yell a lot, but for the first time in my adult life I feel fulfilled. How’s that for irony?

Here I am, eating cake after a very long day of mothering. Haven’t looked in a mirror for about 8 hours. You probably could have guessed that. I mistakenly assumed my hair looked cute, like oh, I just tossed it on top of my head. Realized too late (after pictures were taken) what I looked like. Shit, that’s what. But it’s my birthday, and if I want to look like shit, I can look like shit.

Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s 7:30 and I want nothing more than to go lie down.

I just quit my job.

I can’t stop sweating.

I am now unemployed. 

I texted my friend Amy, who I’ve known since I was 14. She is a very reasonable person, and always knows just what to say. This time, she said this:

Quitting a job takes a lot of guts … this is the next adventure of your life! Adventures are scary, but so worth it.

And she’s right, of course. My next adventure is going to be focusing everything I have in me, every shred of gumption and courage and strength, to raise my two boys into the men I know they can be. 

In the words of my wise friend, All those long hours and dreadful phone calls will be replaced with smiles, laughs, cries, and stuff that really matters. You are doing the right thing.

I know I am. And I’m scared to death.

Yesterday, the baby screamed for two hours straight in the middle of the day. My mother pulled me aside and said she didn’t understand how I have been doing this. I said I didn’t know either. Then she said something about God’s help, and she’s right — that is the only answer I can come up with. The Good Lord and a cocktail.

So … I have decided to put Husband on a train and send him back home on the 26th without us.

It’s pretty depressing because my 32nd birthday is the 26th and he will have to leave before the sun comes up in order to catch said train, but I am not ready to leave Louisiana. He is going to miss my birthday celebration. We are going to miss him. But I just can’t go home yet.

I start crying every time I try to verbalize how much I need to be around my support system, i.e. my family. Stupid me. I should have come down here right after TWO was born and just camped out. But instead I have been trying to tough it out on my own, and I have made it this far, but I don’t know if I can go on. I guess I have no choice, but I just want a tiny break. Just a few days. 

One of my friends asked if my parents are okay with me staying here for an unknown period of time, with my kids, because if she were to do that to her mother with “a baby who screamed all the time,” her mom would definitely “send them packing.” Which prompted me to ask my mother over coffee this morning if she was going to “send us packing.”

She said no. Then she asked how long we’ll be staying. I said not to worry. We’ll go home eventually.

I think.

OMGIHATETECHNOLOGY.

I am at my parent’s house, using unfamiliar appliances and I suck at figuring anything out if it’s got digital capability.

 
I had an egg nog pound cake in this beast for an HOUR before I realized that the oven was not on. Then I freaked out and called in my husband and he did something, I do not know what, and now an alarm keeps going off and these strange letters are showing on the screen.

All I want is THIS. Because my pants aren’t nearly tight enough, and carbohydrates and sugars are exactly the thing to be eating right now.

http://www.southernliving.com

If this pound cake survives what I have just put it through, I’ll let you know. So far it’s been “cooking” on and off for almost two hours. It still looks raw.

We’re leaving tomorrow morning for a 10-day trip to see our family (read: fodder for future blog entries), and I am responsible for packing up our stuff. Normally that would be a task I could handle, but I’m running on not-much sleep and I’m just a tiny bit overwhelmed by all of the crap I’m supposed to remember. 

I’ve made some lists. For example, I had to write down on a piece of paper to remember to pack food for my infant. 

Now … this is a time when those crazy breastfeeders who burned me at the stake would probably jump to remind me that if I were breastfeeding, I wouldn’t have to “remember” to “bring food” for my infant.

I had a point. But alas, I didn’t write it down anywhere.