I've led a pretty charmed life. Sure, I've had my share of hard times and trials, but I believe wholeheartedly in a Pollyanna outlook so I really can't complain about too much. (Except for the cancellation of the hit prehistoric drama Terra Nova - BIG mistake, Fox Network. HUGE. *shows Fox my many purchases from other networks, including a hardcore allegiance to NBC's The Blacklist. Fox stands there speechless and watches forlornly as I waltz away to take my viewing time elsewhere* (Okay, that was totally a scene from Pretty Woman and never happened.)(Me and Fox are still boyz because MasterChef Junior.)(We've been letting Eve and Hosanna watch this in order to lay the groundwork for one of them to fall in love with cooking and become the family chef. For those who are wondering how good parents do it = television.)
Even with my Pollyanna outlook, sometimes life just takes you through hard seasons, and prolonged difficulties can require certain means of coping to endure. We've faced one of those hard seasons with Brian's recent illness. I thought I would share a few of my go-to methods for coping because I'm nothing if not helpful.
1. Hating on Inanimate Objects - I've focused on three main objects to bear the brunt of my frustrations.
The freaking potty seat that mocks me in the bathroom. Yeah, I get it, Potty Seat, that my fourth child completely refuses to use the toilet. That is certainly no reason to sit in the bathroom all braggy-like about your position in the home. Your only job seems to be to look pretty (which, not to get all Mean Girls, but you are totally failing because you are a potty seat) and even then I noticed you are totally covered in a thick layer of freaking dust, which in only evidence to show how infrequently you serve any purpose. Maybe I give you the finger every time I use the bathroom sometimes. Maybe if you were more comfortable/looked like Lightning McQueen/offered Goldfish crackers Ezra would be potty trained already. Way to fail at your only job.
This box full of items I need to finish the master bathroom. Yes, I'm really proud of the budget friendly way I've collected all the materials necessary to make my master bathroom function again. (A $40 shower curtain from Bed Bath & Beyond marked down to $10, with a 50% off sticker, and a 20% coupon? Sure, I'll buy it for $4.24. A $20 tension rod marked down to $10 and another golden 20% off coupon, making the total around $8? Twist my arm.) So, Box of Bathroom Treasures on the floor of my bedroom, while you are usually a source of pride and joy at my shopping prowess, the day I stumbled out of the bathroom and tripped over you, kicking half the contents around the room and waking up a sleeping toddler in the process, and also rendering my outer three toes a mass of throbbing digits, you no longer brought me joy. In fact, all the money I saved purchasing your contents transferred directly from my savings account to the family Swear Jar.
Pure Michigan radio spots with Tim Allen voice-overs.
Maybe it's because I don't even need to be premenstrual to tear up when I hear you. Maybe it's because you are usually spouting about the grandeur of Michigan nature when I am stuck in parking lot type traffic ready to freak the heck out because DOESN'T ANYONE KNOW HOW TO MERGE????!!!! Maybe it's the music. Or maybe it's because I'd love to marvel at the wonders around me, but someone has to do the laundry. And every time I take a deep breath of Pure Michigan it's tinged with poop because Ezra is not potty trained yet. Thanks for that reminder, Tim Allen.
2. Caramel Mocha's from McDonalds/ this potential BFF in my own hometown. I was on my way to Meijers (*honk if you're from Michigan and didn't even notice the added "s"*) and followed this car for close to a mile before it turned into the same McDonald's drive-thru I was about to frequent. It's like God knew I needed to know this person existed and could rest in the hope of an amazing potential friendship. Too bad I was behind her in line or else I totally would have paid for her Caramel Mocha because what else would she be getting?!, fully cementing any best friendship we already potentially had.
3. 1-2-3 NOT IT! Remember this gem from childhood? All you had to do was yell, "1-2-3 Not it!" and you were completely exempt from the task at hand. When I find I am absolutely at the end of my wits and Ezra spills an entire bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch all over our hardwood floors, I simply revert to my youth. Who's cleaning this up? 1-2-3 NOT IT, y'all.
4. The old "Oh, I can't control my circumstance? I'd better control my environment" method. This is mostly about me freaking out and throwing away a ton of stuff, making extremely important decisions about where to put the things we own, and craigslisting (totally a verb) the heck out of shelving units in which to house all our newly organized junk. I know, "Pics or it didn't happen", but seriously, that work is it's own post, so stay tuned for photographic evidence. As a teaser, I was inspired by this article, so, yeah, bizness got real up in here.
5. Googling videos of people that can't.stop.laughing. Also, because I use my time wisely (and who really needs clean bathrooms anyway?) I also watch videos of people that can't stop laughing at other people laughing. Incredibly stupid? Heck yes. But people once thought penicillin was stupid, too, so, yeah, call me Alexander Fleming. (Bonus: school for the day. Bam! You're smarter.) I dare you not to laugh at gems like this:
Esther's birthday cake - sole survivor.
I am most proud of the one thing I haven't done in order to cope. I've managed to avoid stress eating until I bought a bag or three of Halloween candy. This piece of cake (what was left of the 1/8 sheet cake we got for Esther's birthday) sat on my kitchen counter for a full week before I threw it in the garbage. And? It's a corner piece.
Right there? That is what victory looks like.
So go forth today, and stress less. Victory can be yours as well.
Let's review. I've been recapping my fabulous trip to San Diego with Lauren and left you all relieved that we avoided being a part of any kind of gang initiation or other crime a suburban mama from Michigan might stumble upon in California (although "mama's" are pretty prevalent in gang activity) (usually as fodder for insults) (that are really hilarious) (like, "Yo Mama is so nasty that she makes Speed Stick slow down.") (or, "Yo Mama is so fat that THX can't even surround her.") (maybe gangbangers are just frustrated comedians) (more comedy clubs = less gang activity) (#Kelly@SublurbanMamaforPresident2016).
(I just took a five minutes break and realized I can totally make my hands spell "blood" if I try hard enough.) (But I did need to use one hand to position the other (is that cheating?) and immediately after succeeding both hands cramped and locked into position and I thought, "I can't even blog this because no one is awake to take a picture of me totally nailing this impressive feat of ... hand positioning and if I move at all it is lost forever because my hands are now in so much pain I am never doing this again.)
So, San Diego. We arrived at the Hilton on Harbor Island at 10:30 p.m. (1:30 a.m. to our poor Detroit bodies) hungry enough to eat a - *GANGBANGER COMEDIAN INTERRUPTION* "Yo Mama is so fat she doesn't eat with a fork, she eats with a forklift." Yes, GBC, exactly that. Thankfully the hotel bar was still open and the front desk even gave us a 20% off coupon because it was customary we were super hot.
We sat at the bar with exactly the kind of people you would expect in a hotel bar at nearly 11:00 on a Tuesday night. Since it was nearing closing time, some of these fine patrons had been enjoying themselves for a while when we arrived. The bartender was really cool about us coming near closing and ordering a meal. Seriously. I ordered a Club sandwich and Lauren got fish tacos. (Midwestern Fun Fact: When ordering food in a Midwestern restaurant and you see the word "California" proceeding the menu item, it means one of two things. Either that item has avocado or that item has sprouts. When my club sandwich came and it was loaded with avocado, my first reaction was, "Dude, I didn't order a California Club." Then I realized I didn't have to. Winning like Charlie Sheen.
The food was so.good. We were tired and the adrenaline from the travel and excitement over our first hotel was fading and being replaced quickly with a riotous form of The Slaphappy Giggles. I don't know who started it, but it was probably Lauren. She's definitely the more immature one in our relationship and way more prone to inappropriate public behavior. (Haha. Sike.)
(I should probably preface this story with the information that Lauren and I completely lost our marbles during the entirety of this next exchange. We lost it in the way one loses it when it is not suitable to laugh and so you lose your mind trying not to laugh and then inevitably explode. It was the most fantastic display of The Slaphappy Giggles in the history of that bar.)(I'm pretty sure.)
The lady at the end of the bar was trying to pay her bill when she realized how much money she drank that evening. Her main point of contention was the chocolate martinis. I don't know anything about the price of drinks, but $22 per martini seems like a legit thing to question. So she asked our Super Nice Bartender (the same guy who welcomed us and our full dinner order at closing time) to kindly review the bill. The Super Nice Bartender kindly explained the cost of Grey Goose vodka, and then kindly explained how many shots of that vodka went into each of those martinis, and when he was kindly finished she kindly informed him she had five kids in college and wasn't paying $22 for a martini that "was clearly watered down. I drink all the time, and seriously, those didn't even give me a good buzz." After numerous minutes of this sort of reasoning, Super Nice Bartender responded, "I didn't make those drinks, I'm just trying to close up. Let me get the man who served you. I'll go get Omar."
This sounded completely ominous to me because 1. Omar is the name of a man who could kick a little tush (not like Marvin or Casey) and 2. this lady was drunk "not buzzed" enough to try and take him on. Frankly, I was a little excited it was beginning to seem like my life-long dream of being a bystander on the show COPS might come to fruition.
Omar. In animal form.
Then a young, tiny little man came out. He was super cute. Super cute like a kitten cuddling a baby seal while wearing a top hat. This was not going to be an even fight. Omar had almost the exact conversation with Not Buzzed Lady as did the Super Nice Bartender, but, being the second time around, my keen deduction skills and math genius started to kick in. This is when I realized that if Grey Goose vodka shots were a total of $22 per chocolate martini, and an entire chocolate martini was $22, then this Not Buzzed Woman had received all her chocolate for FREE.
I anticipated this being the kind of information that needed to be shared immediately, but Lauren convinced me this was not helpful information to bring to a debate between Omar and Not Buzzed Lady for the time being. Instead I settled for a stage whispered, "STAY STRONG, DUDE," just to help Omar out, and when Not Buzzed Lady said, "What did she say?" Omar totally wasted my support by saying, "They are just having a good time."
Later, when Not Buzzed Lady retired for the evening (after paying full price for her beverages and leaving a tip)(impressive, Omar, impressive) we had a chance to discuss the situation in full with Omar. After a few moments of fairly intelligent conversation based upon our outsider perspective of the situation, Omar looked at us anew and confessed, "Oh, I thought you guys were high."
Then we went to our room where Lauren spent 45 minutes on the phone with Expedia because Quality Inn was refusing to refund any money because they want their customers to become victims of gangbangers who just need comedy clubsI finally went blissfully to sleep on the most comfortable pillows in existence.
