No, that wasn't a typo---I meant to type coroner, not corner. It was pun. That's how I roll.
Today's little nugget of unsolicited information is brought to you by the postpartum depression society of the Mid-West. And Brooke Shields.
You've read all the books on postpartum depression. You've read about the baby blues and how you'll feel 'inadequate' and how you'll be over tired and overwhelmed and all that stuff. It's all true, you'll feel all of those emotions with about 4,000 other emotions ranging from euphoria to desperation & dread.
Mine is a common story, but not a very frequently told story. No one wants to talk about how they wanted nothing more than to check into a fancy hotel following the birth of their baby---and never check out.
The first time around, I felt elated, prepared and completely in control. I never once went through a period of time with my first born where I didn't know what I was doing. I felt like I was meant to be a mother and I felt like I stepped flawlessly and gracefully into that role. For Lord's sake, I look back at photos and videos from the first few months of motherhood and I'm wearing makeup, jewelery and heels in the middle of the afternoon. What the F.? Who was I kidding?
Fast forward 3 years and I can barely manage to wash and dry the same load of laundry within the same day. I'll admit it, it got ugly for a while. Not that my second pregnancy wasn't planned. It most certainly was. The truth of the matter was that I felt I owed it to my son to give him a sibling. It truly wasn't that I wanted or needed another child, I felt quite content with one. I just didn't want him to be an only child. Little did I know my two boys would wind up hating each other.... Anyway, back to my second pregnancy. Like an idiot, I took the pregnancy test way too early. I found out I was preggers when I was less than 2 weeks along. I have freakishly strong hormones, apparently. So, this was my quandary. If I'd have just played it cool, I could have had 2 or 3 more weeks of drinking before "technically" finding out. But nooooo, nosy bitch had to find out early. So, there I sat, on the toilet, staring at the pee stick. I wasn't elated, I wasn't surprised, I wasn't anything. Literally, my only thought was, "damn. if I'd have waited until I was actually late, I could have partied over Labor Day weekend"...
As the pregnancy went on, I got more and more depressed. There are so many distinct memories I have of that very dark time. I recall crying to my husband one night about how on earth am I going to read Ben (my oldest) his bedtime stories with a newborn. I don't know why, but it was the mundane things like that which overwhelmed me to no end. I didn't see how other mothers did it. Or why they'd want to. "Great...and how do you expect me to drive Ben to pre-school with a newborn in the car...huh..huh"??? I was so very negative about it all.
During the labor, I was more excited about the epidural than about the actual birth. I kept lying and saying that I could feel the contractions (I couldn't) just so they'd pump me with more meds. By the time I was fully dialated, I was so numb from the waist down, my husband was poking my thighs with a sharp pencil just for fun. Oh, we had ourselves quite a time! I was at 10 cm. for about 3 hours. The nurse kept saying, "do you want to try and push now... he's practically hanging out of you". And I'd say (while admiring my manicure), "No. Not so much. I think I'll wait a tad longer". I wanted to maintain being the patient for as long as I could. I was milking this for all it's worth. I knew once he'd arrived, I'd get tossed to the back burner and he'd take over.
Ok, so by sheer gravity, the child was born. I totally feigned pushing. I made the face and grimaced and everything, but as for using any strawn-th to push my child out---none. I didn't want him out. Plainly said. Finally, I was distracted by a very irritating sound in the room (Lee and I are very sensitive to noise) and I think I went as far as to crinkle my nose and ask "what is that intolerable sound"? The nurse said, "we're suctioning the baby's mouth". Oh. Alright then, carry on. He was out and I didn't even know it (again, the drugs...). So, he was all cute and so forth. I marveled him and wondered how I (me?) could have gotten two of the best looking little boys ever known to man. All that fuss was short lived until the next morning when I got a visit from a social worker.
I'd had my tubes tied immediately following the birth. This was a prearranged thing, not spontaneous. After wanting to kill myself throughout the entire pregnancy, I knew I never wanted to do this again. Plus, I didn't think I had enough love in my heart for more than 2 children. I was still reeling from the vicodin after the surgery when a lovely, motherly figure appeared in the doorway. I knew immediately who she was and why she was there. A few hours after Gabe's birth, I had to fill out a postpartum depression survey. I turned it into my nurse and thought nothing of it until the social worker came. The look on her face was pity, compassion, love, support and comfort. I started bawling as soon as I saw her. She did that thing that women do where they tilt their head to one side, squint and sort of smile at you. Oh, I wanted to crawl into her lap and suck my thumb. My mother had been gone for 2 years at this point and I felt so sorry for myself that I didn't have my mother to share this with me. Again. She was sick with cancer during Ben's pregnancy & birth and now she wasn't even alive for this one. I felt robbed. Anyway, she asked if I remembered taking the survey, I did. She said a score of 10 or more indicated possible depression. I scored a 37. I can laugh about it now, but I vividly recall saying to her. "I'm not going to kill my kids or anything, it's not that kind of postpartum depression....it's just the kind where I don't ever want to leave the hospital...so you don't have to call the authorities or anything". She just smiled that beautiful smile at me. My OB came in later that evening and patted my legs and said, "are you ready to go home tomorrow"??? I started bawling and said, "Hells NO...they make me work at home". He just slowly backed out of the room.
I sat in my wheelchair with Gabe in his carseat, on my lap, in the waiting room. All the other new moms were waiting for their husbands or significant other's to come pick them up to go home. They all looked so anxious and hopeful and excited. I just stared at them, wishing I was anywhere else besides there. The whole way home, my husband kept saying, "here we go....new chapter.... " and all these other cliche things that made me want to kill him. All I wanted to do was cry. Once home, I literally didn't get out my bathrobe for 3 days. My blinds were drawn and I'm sure my neighbors assumed that we had a really ugly baby, based on how reclusive I was. I remember watching Will & Grace that first night at home. Gabe in his bouncy seat, I in my robe. I thought to myself, "Will is so lucky he's gay---he'll never have to deal with all of this". I didn't understand it. I loved babies, I loved everything about babies. Why was I so sad to have another one of my own--a gorgeously healthy baby at that? I knew all about postpartum depression, but I was fairly confident that that was NOT was this was. PPD was an erroneous psychosomatic condition. What I had was real.
I finally called my dearest girlfriend and bawled for the first 20 minutes of the conversation. Just incomprehensible sobbing. She gave me the best advice I've ever received and I firmly believe she saved my life that day. She said, "Listen to me. RUN--don't walk---RUN to your doctor and get on something [anti-depressants] before sundown today". Bada boom, bada bing, 4 hours later, my husband was filling my prescription for zoloft and the rest is history. 3 or 4 days later I was saying, "what was all that business about"??? Not that I didn't fall into my fair share of mild depression every now and again. After all, pills can only help so much.
No doubt about it, this is the hardest, most unappreciated and stressful job I've ever had in my life. Hands down. But, would I trade it for anything in the entire world? Never. I'm honest about motherhood, I don't try to sugar coat it into a Norman Rockwell painting. It is what it is, but at the end of the day, if you can put adults out into the world who are well adjusted, well liked, self sufficient, contributing members of society, than you've done your job and that's what I'm trying to do. But for now, I'm perfectly content hearing strangers comment on my "ridiculously good looking boys".
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Cinematology
I'm a person who is big on "taste". By saying so, I should also admit that I don't particularly have exceptional taste, or even good taste, but it's my own and I think someone's taste says a lot about them. I tend to be a bit judgemental that way. Others' taste helps me to gauge if I will like them or not. For example: If asked a person what their favorite restaurant is, and they replied, "Olive Garden", I could guess that we probably wouldn't hit it off very well.
I am often interested in what type of movies interest people. Again, I think it says a lot about them. If someone told me their favorite movie was "Legally Blonde" I'd probably put a skewer in their eye.
With all that said, I now shall go through my distinct list of favorite movies and my reasons for loving them so.
1. Good Fellas. Greatest movie of all time. Ray Liotta, Joe Pesci and Robert DiNiro at their finest. Mafia legend gets greedy and turns into a rat. I've seen it about 8,000 times and to this day, I never miss an opportunity to see it. It thrills me to the core each time I see Henry Hill in action. (sigh)
2. Pulp Fiction. You really have to be able to appreciate the artistic approach of this film. If you prefer your movies to have a beginning, climax & conclusion all wrapped up in nice package, than you won't like this movie. Plus, you might not possess the intellect to understand it's complex plot. My husband and I reference this movie at least daily. "Who's chopper is this"?
3. American Beauty. I still don't understand my strong attraction for Kevin Spacey, but this movie definitely sealed the deal for me. He portrays a pitiful, mid-life, has-been and finds himself wildly drawn to the sexy, teenage friend of his sullen daughter. Annette Benning is fabulous!
4. Silence of the Lambs. I have chills just typing it's title. Again, I've seen it hundreds of times and could definitely see it hundreds more! I still get scared at the same places. I still get the willies when Buffalo Bill tucks his weenie and dances for the camera and I still want to jump out of my skin when Hannibal sniffs Clarice's essence.
5. Urban Cowboy. Features the darling Debra Winger and the ever-talented Mr. John Travolta. Bud (Travolta) delivers a stellar performance as aspiring mechanical bull rider but at the cost of his marriage to Sissy as he faces losing her to ex-con, Wes Hightower.
6. Coal Miner's Daughter. There no words....
7. Best in Show. ABSOLUTELY HILARIOUS!! Perfect cast, perfectly timed one-liners & quips!
8. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. C'mon. If this isn't on your list, than you're not right in the head.
9. Friday. Starring Chris Tucker and rapper Ice Cube. If you've never heard of this movie, don't feel too badly---it mostly targets the pot-smoking crowd. Basically, the entire movie takes place getting high on Craig's (Cube) front porch. Evidently, in the ghetto, it all goes down on the front porch.
10. Last but not least--Napolean Dynamite. Oh my goodness.... I cry everytime! Uncle Rico, Kip... I could go on and on, but I wouldn't do it justice. God! Idiot!
Feel free to comment! Add your own favorites, harass me for mine...whateva!
I am often interested in what type of movies interest people. Again, I think it says a lot about them. If someone told me their favorite movie was "Legally Blonde" I'd probably put a skewer in their eye.
With all that said, I now shall go through my distinct list of favorite movies and my reasons for loving them so.
1. Good Fellas. Greatest movie of all time. Ray Liotta, Joe Pesci and Robert DiNiro at their finest. Mafia legend gets greedy and turns into a rat. I've seen it about 8,000 times and to this day, I never miss an opportunity to see it. It thrills me to the core each time I see Henry Hill in action. (sigh)
2. Pulp Fiction. You really have to be able to appreciate the artistic approach of this film. If you prefer your movies to have a beginning, climax & conclusion all wrapped up in nice package, than you won't like this movie. Plus, you might not possess the intellect to understand it's complex plot. My husband and I reference this movie at least daily. "Who's chopper is this"?
3. American Beauty. I still don't understand my strong attraction for Kevin Spacey, but this movie definitely sealed the deal for me. He portrays a pitiful, mid-life, has-been and finds himself wildly drawn to the sexy, teenage friend of his sullen daughter. Annette Benning is fabulous!
4. Silence of the Lambs. I have chills just typing it's title. Again, I've seen it hundreds of times and could definitely see it hundreds more! I still get scared at the same places. I still get the willies when Buffalo Bill tucks his weenie and dances for the camera and I still want to jump out of my skin when Hannibal sniffs Clarice's essence.
5. Urban Cowboy. Features the darling Debra Winger and the ever-talented Mr. John Travolta. Bud (Travolta) delivers a stellar performance as aspiring mechanical bull rider but at the cost of his marriage to Sissy as he faces losing her to ex-con, Wes Hightower.
6. Coal Miner's Daughter. There no words....
7. Best in Show. ABSOLUTELY HILARIOUS!! Perfect cast, perfectly timed one-liners & quips!
8. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. C'mon. If this isn't on your list, than you're not right in the head.
9. Friday. Starring Chris Tucker and rapper Ice Cube. If you've never heard of this movie, don't feel too badly---it mostly targets the pot-smoking crowd. Basically, the entire movie takes place getting high on Craig's (Cube) front porch. Evidently, in the ghetto, it all goes down on the front porch.
10. Last but not least--Napolean Dynamite. Oh my goodness.... I cry everytime! Uncle Rico, Kip... I could go on and on, but I wouldn't do it justice. God! Idiot!
Feel free to comment! Add your own favorites, harass me for mine...whateva!
And other benefits of childbirth
Here’s a secret. Very, very often, when I go on my father-in-law’s trampoline, I pee my pants on the jump up. I don’t know why. I’ve learned not to wear skirts or shorts on the old tramp. I don’t know if it’s a girl thing, or a child birth thing, or an old age thing, or what….but it’s troublesome. Try laughing, sneezing, running, coughing, jump roping, etc. after you turn 40. It's a real scream when you actually listen to the Depends commercials at this stage of the game. I'm doing everything I can think of to fight the signs of aging, but until they make depends that wear like a thong, my MILF jeans aren't looking, well MILFy. Why didn't I listen when they said "do your kegels?"....I'm definetly telling my daughter to do them daily. She's 14. She'll love me for it!
homeless insomniacs
Sometimes I don’t feel like being long winded and thought provoking. Sometimes I just feel like sharing a little anecdote or tip. Like this one: sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I pretend that I’m homeless and I’ve been sleeping on the streets for weeks and weeks. I pretend that someone took me in and let me use their shower and I’m as shiny as a new penny. Then, I crawl into my bed and I feel that it’s the most comfortable thing I’ve ever felt in my entire life and I feel like a princess while I drift off to sleep. That’s how I fall asleep many-a-night.
vacation II
Before their divorce in ’85, the parents did make last ditch efforts for another family vacation. In hindsight, it may have been the nail in their marital coffin. This time, it was to Sandusky, Ohio. Home to Cedar Point Amusement Park. This time it was different, because there was virtually no planning involved. We came home from school on a typical Friday and found my mom packing up the Trans Am. Dad called it an adventure and thought to take the cloth cover off of the old T-bird and stretch her legs. What an appropriate mode of transportation for a family of 5 to take on a 6 hour road trip! Being the youngest, I got to sit on the hump on the way to and from Ohio. We were all so freaking excited when we got there. What would we ride first? Would I be tall enough to ride the Mine Ride? Would my parents embarrass me? Would my dad throw a temper tantrum over the temperature of his elephant ears and scream at the vendor? Of course, he started yelling at us right off the bat because we were much too excited, but in the end, I don’t recall much drama. Lee, you might remember it differently.
Here are the highlights from the Cedar Pointe trip ’82, based on my recollections:
Yep, that about wraps up that trip!
Here are the highlights from the Cedar Pointe trip ’82, based on my recollections:
- Crazy middle sister taught me how to dive in the motel pool (what is up with our family and motel pools??).
- Riding the Corkscrew turned out to be a big mistake for my dad because the tightness of the harness made him ‘uncomfortable’ and we heard about that for days and days following the trip.
- I had to ride a kiddie ride with a child whom I still to this day don’t know if it was a boy or girl. It intrigued me.
- My dad, in a moment of weakness, put on an oversized pair of sunglasses and shoved food in his mouth for the sake of a silly photo.
Yep, that about wraps up that trip!
vacation's all I ever wanted....
I’ve often felt that the best way to gauge someone’s authentic self is to observe them in their natural habitat. When and where is a family more raw than when traveling together? Come. Join me on a journey. I’m inviting you to get a bird’s eye view of my family at it’s finest dysfunction.
It’s approximately 1980. The parental units are still married, but barely. All three girls are still living at home, aged 15, 13 & 7. Dad decides the brutal Winters are too hard on his chronic pain (see: hypochondria) and looks into heading West. Arizona, here we come. Now, mind you, this is our first family vacation. First. Not a camping trip, not a visit to the Nation’s capital, not even so much as a road trip to Mackinaw Island. Nothing. I have my own theories about this. While my crazy, middle sister (who insists her real parents were aristocrats) would maintain that we were too dreadfully poor to take lavish vacations. I would disagree. I think my parents just didn’t like us enough to want to travel for any length of time with us.
So, imagine the hustle and bustle that would accompany our very first family vacation. I was only 7, so I didn’t know any better, but for the older girls, I’m sure you could relate to their enthusiasm and sheer excitement. We had visions of the three of us posing with fancy head dresses and cute sunglasses on, covered in souveniers, a golden tan and smiling from ear to ear. No doubt each of us had our own personalized images of when the Brady’s went to the Grand Canyon. Would we get thrown behind bar in an old mining town? Would we camp out under the stars and befriend a little Indian boy? Would we attend a pow wow and then be given Indian names? If so, what would my Indian name be? The possibilities were endless!
3 Days into our “vacation”, picture it: the 5 of us had been driving around Phoenix, Tempe, Scottsdale, Flagstaff, Tucson and Mesa in an Aries K car which is about the equivalent of a Ford Tempo, but not quite as fancy. We’d looked at house after house. After house. After house. None of which we could afford, but hemmed and hawed nevertheless. My parents were cruel. They’d drag us to 20 houses a day. Each one was more interesting and promising than the one before. My mother would say, “Ooooohhh. Looook, this could be your room and we could get yellow gingham balloon valences and a matching bedspread…..” and she get us all fired up then we’d drive away. She smoke her Ginny Slims and stare out the window of the K car. This would go on and on for 2 weeks. You can only trick a dog so many times to get into the car for a “ride” before he’s wise to you.
Here are the highlights of the trip that I can remember to date:
1. Lee got a virus and was able to spend the majority of the “vacation” in the motel room (she was always a smartie, that Lee)
2. Crazy, middle sister entertained herself by pulling out my bottom 4 teeth and they’ve since grown in terribly crooked and I look like a bulldog, thanks to that trip.
3. I swallowed too much water in the pool one day and threw up. They had to close the motel pool (yeah, that’s right, I said, MOTEL, not hotel….). Embarrassment ensued.
4. I got to go swimming at night one evening. The lights of the pool, amid the moon & stars was just about the most thrilling thing I’d ever seen or done and I believed I had truly arrived at that point.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
It all comes back to the Bradys.
I've said it once, I'll say it again. Everything lesson I've ever learned in life can be traced back to the Brady Bunch. You can't argue, it's a simple fact.
Why, just this past Easter, Lee's ex-husband was invited to have Easter dinner with her, her current husband and their children. I thought that was big of her, but I secretly wondered about the odd dynamics of it all. I found myself reflecting on the Brady Bunch episode when Carol's ex-boyfriend, Tank came into town. He was a strapping lad and Mike appeared to be somewhat intimidated by Tank's athletic physique. At first, Carol was flattered by the attention Tank had been showing her (who wouldn't) but really, how many times can you spin a girl around calling her "twinkle toes" before you realize the past is the past for a reason. As for Mike, why, he was all the man Carol needed. So to speak.
Another point of interest: I'm forever trying to change my appearance. Like most girls, I'm my worst critic. I love changing even the most trivial thing about myself. Change is good, I always say. But, not when the reasoning behind the change is wrong. I always joke that if money were no object, I'd have my nose, boobs, chin, lips and stomach done. Then I'd be perfect, right? Wrong. One night, I had girls' night planned with some of my peeps. I made extra efforts to look hot that night. I mean, I pulled out all the stops. While applying my make-up, I got kind of saucy and I added a fake beauty mark above my lip. I felt it made me look exotic and mysterious. As I gave myself one last glimpse in my rear view mirror, I was sure that I'd had it going on! I strolled into the venue as if I'd owned the place, confident as all get out. Friend after friend continued to tell me I had something on my lip. No comment about my exotic beauty mark, no added attention from the male species, nothing. I went home feeling deflated.
Laying in bed that night, who popped into my head? You know where I'm going with this. "Introducing....the NEW JAN BRADY"...you know, at Lucy Winters' birthday party..with the big black wig??? If you don't know what I'm talking about, there's really no point in your continuing to read this blog. I knew at that moment that I'd tried to change myself on the outside, but all my friends really wanted was the inside of me. Well. Not in the biblical sense, you see. (picture me looking upward and nodding knowingly with a smirk).
Which leads me to my last case in point: I've been told I'm a tiny bit neurotic. As we all know, neurosis is just a euphamism for giant pain in the ass. I think I've got OCD, but mostly, I just call it my "brain pain". It manifests itself into 2 distinct categories. 1. Forgotten thoughts 2. Lost items. Both will cause me a panic of such great proportions, there's often no recovery. When an earring goes missing or I forgot what I was going to ask my husband, you can almost feel the loss of oxygen in the air. It. gets. ugly. I literally freak out. (It's true! Ann will go on about a missing sock for days if you let her). This little anecdote coinsides with my mother's spirit haunting me. Since her passing 5 years ago, I am confident that she tortures me by "hiding" various items throughout my house. At one point, I had a list (a physical list) of 13 things that had mysteriously gone missing. These items ranged from jewlery to spoons to socks to an entire outfit. Nothing significant or terribly valueable, mind you. Just enough to send me over the edge. How does this relate to the Brady's. Silly thing, don't you remember when Tiger stole Bobby's kazoo and Cindy's Kitty Carry-All and hid them in his dog house, but Cindy blamed Bobby and Bobby blamed Cindy and it was a big Brady debacle? The moral of the story is, maybe my mom isn't haunting me, but maybe, just maybe my missing items are simply missing? I personally think Ann is drinking heavily during the day and simply can't remember where she put's stuff or that she's attempting to sell it on e-bay and has shipped it off to someone she thinks has actually won the "bidding contest." I worry about her at times.
I do think it's important that you all know that Ann is obsessed with the Brady Bunch because of how/when she came into this world.....read more about "The Night Ann Was Born", coming to this blog soon!
Why, just this past Easter, Lee's ex-husband was invited to have Easter dinner with her, her current husband and their children. I thought that was big of her, but I secretly wondered about the odd dynamics of it all. I found myself reflecting on the Brady Bunch episode when Carol's ex-boyfriend, Tank came into town. He was a strapping lad and Mike appeared to be somewhat intimidated by Tank's athletic physique. At first, Carol was flattered by the attention Tank had been showing her (who wouldn't) but really, how many times can you spin a girl around calling her "twinkle toes" before you realize the past is the past for a reason. As for Mike, why, he was all the man Carol needed. So to speak.
Another point of interest: I'm forever trying to change my appearance. Like most girls, I'm my worst critic. I love changing even the most trivial thing about myself. Change is good, I always say. But, not when the reasoning behind the change is wrong. I always joke that if money were no object, I'd have my nose, boobs, chin, lips and stomach done. Then I'd be perfect, right? Wrong. One night, I had girls' night planned with some of my peeps. I made extra efforts to look hot that night. I mean, I pulled out all the stops. While applying my make-up, I got kind of saucy and I added a fake beauty mark above my lip. I felt it made me look exotic and mysterious. As I gave myself one last glimpse in my rear view mirror, I was sure that I'd had it going on! I strolled into the venue as if I'd owned the place, confident as all get out. Friend after friend continued to tell me I had something on my lip. No comment about my exotic beauty mark, no added attention from the male species, nothing. I went home feeling deflated.
Laying in bed that night, who popped into my head? You know where I'm going with this. "Introducing....the NEW JAN BRADY"...you know, at Lucy Winters' birthday party..with the big black wig??? If you don't know what I'm talking about, there's really no point in your continuing to read this blog. I knew at that moment that I'd tried to change myself on the outside, but all my friends really wanted was the inside of me. Well. Not in the biblical sense, you see. (picture me looking upward and nodding knowingly with a smirk).
Which leads me to my last case in point: I've been told I'm a tiny bit neurotic. As we all know, neurosis is just a euphamism for giant pain in the ass. I think I've got OCD, but mostly, I just call it my "brain pain". It manifests itself into 2 distinct categories. 1. Forgotten thoughts 2. Lost items. Both will cause me a panic of such great proportions, there's often no recovery. When an earring goes missing or I forgot what I was going to ask my husband, you can almost feel the loss of oxygen in the air. It. gets. ugly. I literally freak out. (It's true! Ann will go on about a missing sock for days if you let her). This little anecdote coinsides with my mother's spirit haunting me. Since her passing 5 years ago, I am confident that she tortures me by "hiding" various items throughout my house. At one point, I had a list (a physical list) of 13 things that had mysteriously gone missing. These items ranged from jewlery to spoons to socks to an entire outfit. Nothing significant or terribly valueable, mind you. Just enough to send me over the edge. How does this relate to the Brady's. Silly thing, don't you remember when Tiger stole Bobby's kazoo and Cindy's Kitty Carry-All and hid them in his dog house, but Cindy blamed Bobby and Bobby blamed Cindy and it was a big Brady debacle? The moral of the story is, maybe my mom isn't haunting me, but maybe, just maybe my missing items are simply missing? I personally think Ann is drinking heavily during the day and simply can't remember where she put's stuff or that she's attempting to sell it on e-bay and has shipped it off to someone she thinks has actually won the "bidding contest." I worry about her at times.
I do think it's important that you all know that Ann is obsessed with the Brady Bunch because of how/when she came into this world.....read more about "The Night Ann Was Born", coming to this blog soon!
Scrapping
Since embarking on our new endeavor (blogging) my mind is flooded with topics that I must share with you. You may or may not be aware of the underground cult of scrapbooking.
My God, these pushy mega-moms will try to recruit even the most innocent bystanders. Whatever happened to taking pictures and then at your own convenience, placing them into a photo album? Huh? Who decided that each and every occasion in life needed to captured, chronicaled and then cropped? Complete with stamps, stickers, borders, lame captions and photos cut out with fancy zig-zag scissors? Who are these people? Who has time for this? I have 3 photo albums filled with my first born's first 6 years of life. I have a picture somewhere in my basement of my 2nd born at his birth and another of him wearing a birthday crown (could be his own birthday...could be his brother's birthday, who knows) but that about covers the documentation of my children. I can't even imagine having so much time on my hands that I pick and choose the best photos from each seasonal highlight and then strategically placing them onto card stock, only then to dilute that page with silly decorations. "Ok, everyone, turn to page 6. You'll see Meghan picking her first pumpkin and look how I placed the most perfect halloween border onto the page and then wrote 'boo' with a glittery marker, aren't I clever? Get it, 'boo' because it's halloween"? "...and here's Mark and I the day we bought our mountain bikes. That's Clark, the guy who sold us the mountain bikes--remember honey, he was such a good sport and then he held up bunny ears behind our helmets? See how I stamped "Keep on Rolling" next to the picture of us on our bikes"? "OK, this one might need some explanation. The next series features our trip to Florida. Ohhhhh, Meghan is making her first sand castle and the caption reads, 'Meghan makes her first sand castle'..." Really, really...does this really need explanation?
Oh, that's only scratching the surface. Then there's the actual "cropping parties". You haven't lived until you've attended a cropping party. This is where you can't do your sad little hobby alone, in the privacy of your own dining room table. You have to invite others to do it with you. How do you think the conversation goes at these parties? "Madge, where on earth did you get that kitty cat stamp--girl, don't you know cats are sooo 2006. And did you see Carol's scrapbook from her trip to Washington D.C.? Dear God, she spent all that money on the book and embellishments and didn't even bother to mount the photos---it's a shame, that's what it is. She's making the rest of us look bad".
At the risk of sounding too trite, GET A LIFE!
This is only one step away from obnoxious Christmas letters. Don't get me started, I'll dabble in that in the future.
While Ann catches her breath, I'd like to add my 2 cents....Martha Stewart is responsible for all this nonsense and she must be stopped! I for one stopped shopping at K-Mart when Martha Stewart became K-Mart. She turned perfectly good women into neurotic wanna-be's who tried time and again to mimic Martha's projects, which aren't really hers at all (remember all the talk about how she "stole" others ideas and actually didn't complete any of the projects she documented on her own, rather she had her staff do most of the work and she just appears for the great photo and video shots?)! I mean, really, are we women reverting back to obtaining our identities and creating our value by what kind of projects we do and how well we do them? Isn't it bad enough that we allow ourselves to be judged by what day care programs our kids attend, which extra curriculars they're involved in, which workout facility we attend, how much volunteer work we do at our kids' school and worst of all, what our husbands do for a living????? Ladies, Ladies....please! We are not living in the 50's anymore? We are viable human beings capable of much, much more than beautiful floral arrangements and decorative bird houses! We're thinking, feeling, strategic creatures with two very strong legs to stand on and very broad shoulders capable of supporting just about anything this world gives us. I'm not saying having hobbies and helping out at our children's school isn't a good thing or not important. I'm just saying we're more than just that......
My God, these pushy mega-moms will try to recruit even the most innocent bystanders. Whatever happened to taking pictures and then at your own convenience, placing them into a photo album? Huh? Who decided that each and every occasion in life needed to captured, chronicaled and then cropped? Complete with stamps, stickers, borders, lame captions and photos cut out with fancy zig-zag scissors? Who are these people? Who has time for this? I have 3 photo albums filled with my first born's first 6 years of life. I have a picture somewhere in my basement of my 2nd born at his birth and another of him wearing a birthday crown (could be his own birthday...could be his brother's birthday, who knows) but that about covers the documentation of my children. I can't even imagine having so much time on my hands that I pick and choose the best photos from each seasonal highlight and then strategically placing them onto card stock, only then to dilute that page with silly decorations. "Ok, everyone, turn to page 6. You'll see Meghan picking her first pumpkin and look how I placed the most perfect halloween border onto the page and then wrote 'boo' with a glittery marker, aren't I clever? Get it, 'boo' because it's halloween"? "...and here's Mark and I the day we bought our mountain bikes. That's Clark, the guy who sold us the mountain bikes--remember honey, he was such a good sport and then he held up bunny ears behind our helmets? See how I stamped "Keep on Rolling" next to the picture of us on our bikes"? "OK, this one might need some explanation. The next series features our trip to Florida. Ohhhhh, Meghan is making her first sand castle and the caption reads, 'Meghan makes her first sand castle'..." Really, really...does this really need explanation?
Oh, that's only scratching the surface. Then there's the actual "cropping parties". You haven't lived until you've attended a cropping party. This is where you can't do your sad little hobby alone, in the privacy of your own dining room table. You have to invite others to do it with you. How do you think the conversation goes at these parties? "Madge, where on earth did you get that kitty cat stamp--girl, don't you know cats are sooo 2006. And did you see Carol's scrapbook from her trip to Washington D.C.? Dear God, she spent all that money on the book and embellishments and didn't even bother to mount the photos---it's a shame, that's what it is. She's making the rest of us look bad".
At the risk of sounding too trite, GET A LIFE!
This is only one step away from obnoxious Christmas letters. Don't get me started, I'll dabble in that in the future.
While Ann catches her breath, I'd like to add my 2 cents....Martha Stewart is responsible for all this nonsense and she must be stopped! I for one stopped shopping at K-Mart when Martha Stewart became K-Mart. She turned perfectly good women into neurotic wanna-be's who tried time and again to mimic Martha's projects, which aren't really hers at all (remember all the talk about how she "stole" others ideas and actually didn't complete any of the projects she documented on her own, rather she had her staff do most of the work and she just appears for the great photo and video shots?)! I mean, really, are we women reverting back to obtaining our identities and creating our value by what kind of projects we do and how well we do them? Isn't it bad enough that we allow ourselves to be judged by what day care programs our kids attend, which extra curriculars they're involved in, which workout facility we attend, how much volunteer work we do at our kids' school and worst of all, what our husbands do for a living????? Ladies, Ladies....please! We are not living in the 50's anymore? We are viable human beings capable of much, much more than beautiful floral arrangements and decorative bird houses! We're thinking, feeling, strategic creatures with two very strong legs to stand on and very broad shoulders capable of supporting just about anything this world gives us. I'm not saying having hobbies and helping out at our children's school isn't a good thing or not important. I'm just saying we're more than just that......
"Drinking: Pro's (Like Me) and Cons!"
Ann will start today as she believes I hogged the blog (that sounds so European, doesn't it??? "I hogged the blog and he was great!" So early for my humor!) yesterday. I'll be writing in red...
First, I’m a big fan of drinking. I’ve been getting after it since I was approximately 14 years old with the exception of 2 pregnancies. I am absolutely, unequivocally not an alcoholic (the first step is admitting the problem). I know when to say when (what she really means is she knows when to stop pouring in her glass so it doesn’t spill over the top and force her to quickly move her head so that the drips go directly into her mouth) and I rarely black out (anymore). I can easily go weeks and weeks without drinking (remember, time passes veerrryyy slowly when you are a stay at home mom….weeks to her mean hours really) and not think twice about it. But then the opportunity presents itself and ohhhhhh, look out, me likey me drinky. Now, I didn’t begin as such a seasoned drinker. Like the rest of you, I began at an early age. You know, the sloppy, crying, falling down, grabbing onto you, repetitive, annoying chick that everyone hates. That was me. Over the years, I was able to handle myself more appropriately and I proudly developed into a sloppy, slutty, repetitive, argumentative, aggressive chick . But now, I’m proud to say that I’ve dropped all the previously mentioned habits and now I just drink and tell secrets and loudly, at that (and dance, and ride your childrens’ bikes and scooters around the neighborhood, jump on trampolines topless and finally, dress your dog up in hideous outfits and photograph her).
Here are some pros and cons to drinking….according to me:
Pros:
1. It’s fun
2. It numbs me
3. It allows me to do and say things I wouldn’t normally do or say
4. It gives me liquid courage
5. I find myself even more charming and amusing than I normally am
6. According to my previous statement, it evidently gives me a false sense of security too
Cons:
1. The word “oops” becomes a regular part of my repertoire
2. The first thing out of my mouth the next morning is typically, “are you mad at me”
3. Killer hangovers (can’t exactly bite the snake that bit you when you have 2 little kids. Well, you could, but your oldest would probably tell his principal and your mother in law would end up raising your kids).
4. It often results in pregnancy
5. which often results in children
6. There are these nasty little devices that often accompany drinking. They are called cameras and the raw footage that ensues is often atrocious.
7. My boobs pop out a lot when I drink.
8. Police don’t like me when I drink.
9. I usually get a disgusting rat’s nest in the back of my head when I drink.
10. I spill things a lot when I drink.
11. I admit things to people that really ought to be kept to myself.
12. I lose feeling in my lips, which by itself isn't necessarily bad, but can turn ugly when applying lipliner & stick.
OK, so evidently the cons outweigh the pros, but in the end, isn’t it all relative? (hint: I always say that when I can’t make a point).
First, I’m a big fan of drinking. I’ve been getting after it since I was approximately 14 years old with the exception of 2 pregnancies. I am absolutely, unequivocally not an alcoholic (the first step is admitting the problem). I know when to say when (what she really means is she knows when to stop pouring in her glass so it doesn’t spill over the top and force her to quickly move her head so that the drips go directly into her mouth) and I rarely black out (anymore). I can easily go weeks and weeks without drinking (remember, time passes veerrryyy slowly when you are a stay at home mom….weeks to her mean hours really) and not think twice about it. But then the opportunity presents itself and ohhhhhh, look out, me likey me drinky. Now, I didn’t begin as such a seasoned drinker. Like the rest of you, I began at an early age. You know, the sloppy, crying, falling down, grabbing onto you, repetitive, annoying chick that everyone hates. That was me. Over the years, I was able to handle myself more appropriately and I proudly developed into a sloppy, slutty, repetitive, argumentative, aggressive chick . But now, I’m proud to say that I’ve dropped all the previously mentioned habits and now I just drink and tell secrets and loudly, at that (and dance, and ride your childrens’ bikes and scooters around the neighborhood, jump on trampolines topless and finally, dress your dog up in hideous outfits and photograph her).
Here are some pros and cons to drinking….according to me:
Pros:
1. It’s fun
2. It numbs me
3. It allows me to do and say things I wouldn’t normally do or say
4. It gives me liquid courage
5. I find myself even more charming and amusing than I normally am
6. According to my previous statement, it evidently gives me a false sense of security too
Cons:
1. The word “oops” becomes a regular part of my repertoire
2. The first thing out of my mouth the next morning is typically, “are you mad at me”
3. Killer hangovers (can’t exactly bite the snake that bit you when you have 2 little kids. Well, you could, but your oldest would probably tell his principal and your mother in law would end up raising your kids).
4. It often results in pregnancy
5. which often results in children
6. There are these nasty little devices that often accompany drinking. They are called cameras and the raw footage that ensues is often atrocious.
7. My boobs pop out a lot when I drink.
8. Police don’t like me when I drink.
9. I usually get a disgusting rat’s nest in the back of my head when I drink.
10. I spill things a lot when I drink.
11. I admit things to people that really ought to be kept to myself.
12. I lose feeling in my lips, which by itself isn't necessarily bad, but can turn ugly when applying lipliner & stick.
OK, so evidently the cons outweigh the pros, but in the end, isn’t it all relative? (hint: I always say that when I can’t make a point).
In Our Basement, No One Can Hear You Scream!
Welcome to LeeAnnWrites, the blog written by two sisters, Lee & Ann. Actually, those are our middle names and this is our blog so we can call ourselves anything we want.
We’re writing this blog for therapeutic reasons mostly, but we are wicked funny and strongly believe you will not only enjoy, but also benefit from our writing, rants, jokes or whatever else we may post on a daily basis.
First, you should know a little about the two of us to determine whether or not you will want to read further. If we don’t share the same interests, humor, backgrounds, and favorite beverage choice, then we really won’t get along and there is simply no sense in wasting anymore of your precious time. In a nutshell, this is us:
Lee – The older of the two and the oldest of three girls.
Ann – The baby of the family.
Lee – Typical first child – used to be an overachiever, but now struggles to be anywhere on time. On her second marriage with a blended family of six (yes I wrote 6) kids and a dog who I love more than my family, except of course for Ann. I am a recovering corporate executive who is now a business owner with my husband, who is also recovering from corporate America. By all accounts, our family is pretty fortunate and many would say I have nothing to complain about. I say what’s the sense in getting up in the morning if you can’t complain?!? I'm in therapy and am medicated, but not enough if you ask me.
Ann – Typical baby of the family….you write the rest. OK, per Lee’s explicit instructions, here is where I’m supposed to add my two cents. Despite her opinions, I am not the typical baby of the family. When I think of “the baby” I generally envision a spoiled, precious angel whom everyone dotes on. I’ve never been that person. Well, not since I was 8 months old, anyway. I’ll get into my place in the family at a later date. It’s much too early for us to go there. I don’t have the strength. By the way (and this is tres important) whenever Lee and I use the word ‘strength’ it must, must, must be pronounced like this, “strawn-th”….just so we’re all on the same page. Now then, onward-- I am a married, stay-at-home mother to 2 little boys. Before that, I enjoyed a myriad of jobs ranging from social work at a non-profit Jewish agency to planning Bar/Bat Mitvahs. Not quite an underachiever, but certainly not an overachiever. Now that I’m (mostly) an adult with my own home & family, it’s much easier now for Lee and I to delve into our former dysfunctional lives. They seem to be somewhat comical now…that is, now that we’re not living the hellish nightmare anymore. I haven’t lived in the same household (or region) with Lee for over 24 years, so all we have are our memories to go by. Our relationship is mainly via telephone or email, but it’s my lifeline and I’d be lost without her. I mean that from the bottom of my heart. As for the purpose of this blog, we’ve spent so many hours, days & years laughing until we cry over inside jokes, overly-dramatized scenarios, scathing emails to CMS (crazy middle sister) and the like. Finally, Lee came to me and suggested that we share our wicked minds with the world. I jumped on board before my nails dried! The rest is history.
Here is our idea of the most perfect evening: Our guests are Kathy Griffin and Kristen Wiig, both of whom we believe are our long lost sisters because everything we think, Kathy says and Kristen’s comedic ways are quite similar to ours. It’s true, I’d sell my soul to spend an evening with Kathy Griffin & Kristen Wiig, but I’d add David & Amy Sedaris to the mix as well, just for good measure. We laugh for hours while entertaining one another with stories and jokes all while drinking our favorite cocktail. Lee’s favorites are veeerrrrry dirty martini’s, up, with blue cheese or feta stuffed olives. When I mean dirty, I mean my hands are swollen from the olive juice before I finish my first drink. My other favorite is a pomegranate cosmo made with the perfect blend of PAMA liquor, cointreau and lime juice. De-lish. Ann favors…… Mostly beer. I’m fancy that way. Although, I do love, love, love a good bloody mary. But, I typically don’t favor vodka, only because it often brings out an unbecoming side of myself, which includes, but is not limited to; making up stories about my husband beating me, dirty dancing that appears to be sexy only in my head and slurring insults at my best friends.
Ann & I do NOT think that George Clooney is the bomb. We would however, chuck everything for 5 minutes with Edward Burns. I'd even share, which Ann will tell you (repeatedly) is something I just don't do. Ummmm hmmm--true that!
We are both very controlling and like everything just so. Some say it’s a character flaw, but we believe it’s part of our charm. [read, we’re not changing]. Both of us love to read, but have very different tastes in books. Neither of us is very athletic, but we own lots of workout clothes. We’re really much, much, much too busy to work out regularly, but we are committed to trying to squeeze in a little more for ourselves. Just as soon as we finish our books/magazines/newsletters and a snack.
We were born and raised in the Midwest in a highly dysfunctional family of five, plus two dogs. We were the only Jewish family in our neighborhood and so naturally, the only Jews in school. We weren’t the minority family however. No, that was the Mitchell’s, the only black family at our school. Everyone else was as white and Christian as you could get. Which is why Ann, MS, and I all married non-Jews. I married two Catholics and one year ago, joined the other team when I became a Catholic myself. Since then my life has been wine and roses (this is me being sarcastic, get used to it). Dad was a cop until he got hurt on the job and had to retire with a disability. This was the beginning of a very long and unhappy childhood for all of us, and, on the bright side, the reason we are writing. There’s a lot of humor in dysfunction, IF you know where to look for it. We hope you’ll be as amused as we have been traumatized.
Mom was a beautician/homemaker/real estate agent who wanted nothing more in life than to be a mom then a grandmother, exactly in that order. Considering who she was married to, she did a pretty good job on the mom part, but her role as a grandmother was cut short when she passed away at age 60. We really miss the “old girl” as my son once referred to her.
Ann and I live in different states in the Midwest, but are as thick as thieves. If we lived near one another, we’d probably convince our husbands to buy a really big house so we could all live together, kind of like the family on “Big Love” except there would be 1 husband for each wife, and no partner swapping. Unless it was our idea.
We’re writing this blog for therapeutic reasons mostly, but we are wicked funny and strongly believe you will not only enjoy, but also benefit from our writing, rants, jokes or whatever else we may post on a daily basis.
First, you should know a little about the two of us to determine whether or not you will want to read further. If we don’t share the same interests, humor, backgrounds, and favorite beverage choice, then we really won’t get along and there is simply no sense in wasting anymore of your precious time. In a nutshell, this is us:
Lee – The older of the two and the oldest of three girls.
Ann – The baby of the family.
Lee – Typical first child – used to be an overachiever, but now struggles to be anywhere on time. On her second marriage with a blended family of six (yes I wrote 6) kids and a dog who I love more than my family, except of course for Ann. I am a recovering corporate executive who is now a business owner with my husband, who is also recovering from corporate America. By all accounts, our family is pretty fortunate and many would say I have nothing to complain about. I say what’s the sense in getting up in the morning if you can’t complain?!? I'm in therapy and am medicated, but not enough if you ask me.
Ann – Typical baby of the family….you write the rest. OK, per Lee’s explicit instructions, here is where I’m supposed to add my two cents. Despite her opinions, I am not the typical baby of the family. When I think of “the baby” I generally envision a spoiled, precious angel whom everyone dotes on. I’ve never been that person. Well, not since I was 8 months old, anyway. I’ll get into my place in the family at a later date. It’s much too early for us to go there. I don’t have the strength. By the way (and this is tres important) whenever Lee and I use the word ‘strength’ it must, must, must be pronounced like this, “strawn-th”….just so we’re all on the same page. Now then, onward-- I am a married, stay-at-home mother to 2 little boys. Before that, I enjoyed a myriad of jobs ranging from social work at a non-profit Jewish agency to planning Bar/Bat Mitvahs. Not quite an underachiever, but certainly not an overachiever. Now that I’m (mostly) an adult with my own home & family, it’s much easier now for Lee and I to delve into our former dysfunctional lives. They seem to be somewhat comical now…that is, now that we’re not living the hellish nightmare anymore. I haven’t lived in the same household (or region) with Lee for over 24 years, so all we have are our memories to go by. Our relationship is mainly via telephone or email, but it’s my lifeline and I’d be lost without her. I mean that from the bottom of my heart. As for the purpose of this blog, we’ve spent so many hours, days & years laughing until we cry over inside jokes, overly-dramatized scenarios, scathing emails to CMS (crazy middle sister) and the like. Finally, Lee came to me and suggested that we share our wicked minds with the world. I jumped on board before my nails dried! The rest is history.
Here is our idea of the most perfect evening: Our guests are Kathy Griffin and Kristen Wiig, both of whom we believe are our long lost sisters because everything we think, Kathy says and Kristen’s comedic ways are quite similar to ours. It’s true, I’d sell my soul to spend an evening with Kathy Griffin & Kristen Wiig, but I’d add David & Amy Sedaris to the mix as well, just for good measure. We laugh for hours while entertaining one another with stories and jokes all while drinking our favorite cocktail. Lee’s favorites are veeerrrrry dirty martini’s, up, with blue cheese or feta stuffed olives. When I mean dirty, I mean my hands are swollen from the olive juice before I finish my first drink. My other favorite is a pomegranate cosmo made with the perfect blend of PAMA liquor, cointreau and lime juice. De-lish. Ann favors…… Mostly beer. I’m fancy that way. Although, I do love, love, love a good bloody mary. But, I typically don’t favor vodka, only because it often brings out an unbecoming side of myself, which includes, but is not limited to; making up stories about my husband beating me, dirty dancing that appears to be sexy only in my head and slurring insults at my best friends.
Ann & I do NOT think that George Clooney is the bomb. We would however, chuck everything for 5 minutes with Edward Burns. I'd even share, which Ann will tell you (repeatedly) is something I just don't do. Ummmm hmmm--true that!
We are both very controlling and like everything just so. Some say it’s a character flaw, but we believe it’s part of our charm. [read, we’re not changing]. Both of us love to read, but have very different tastes in books. Neither of us is very athletic, but we own lots of workout clothes. We’re really much, much, much too busy to work out regularly, but we are committed to trying to squeeze in a little more for ourselves. Just as soon as we finish our books/magazines/newsletters and a snack.
We were born and raised in the Midwest in a highly dysfunctional family of five, plus two dogs. We were the only Jewish family in our neighborhood and so naturally, the only Jews in school. We weren’t the minority family however. No, that was the Mitchell’s, the only black family at our school. Everyone else was as white and Christian as you could get. Which is why Ann, MS, and I all married non-Jews. I married two Catholics and one year ago, joined the other team when I became a Catholic myself. Since then my life has been wine and roses (this is me being sarcastic, get used to it). Dad was a cop until he got hurt on the job and had to retire with a disability. This was the beginning of a very long and unhappy childhood for all of us, and, on the bright side, the reason we are writing. There’s a lot of humor in dysfunction, IF you know where to look for it. We hope you’ll be as amused as we have been traumatized.
Mom was a beautician/homemaker/real estate agent who wanted nothing more in life than to be a mom then a grandmother, exactly in that order. Considering who she was married to, she did a pretty good job on the mom part, but her role as a grandmother was cut short when she passed away at age 60. We really miss the “old girl” as my son once referred to her.
Ann and I live in different states in the Midwest, but are as thick as thieves. If we lived near one another, we’d probably convince our husbands to buy a really big house so we could all live together, kind of like the family on “Big Love” except there would be 1 husband for each wife, and no partner swapping. Unless it was our idea.
Tune in tomorrow. Our topic will be whatever made us laugh or piss us off. Probably both. But not in the same sentence. Who knows, maybe tomorrow Lee will allow me more than 4 sentences. We really are fun-loving girls, once you get to know us. In the event that you don't care for our writing style, forward us to someone who will. If you find yourself in need of a mediator, a sounding board or just getting something off your chest, go ahead, we're listening. Remember, if you don't have anything to say, come hang out with us! Ciao for now!
LeeAnn
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