The Best Time Of Our Lives

I look back at high school and laugh at myself. Things that were such a big deal then are hard to even fully remember now.  Break ups were the worst.  School was hard.  Getting up at 7:30am was such a nightmare.  Juggling an after school/weekend job with school and band practice seemed overwhelming.  I remember a particular break up where I laid on the bathroom floor crying while my dad consoled me. (Thanks Dad)  It was the worst day of my entire life.  Failing a test?  OMG!  My life was over.  When I think of what I considered a serious situation back then, I roll my eyes. Continue reading

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When Toddlers Attack

As I am writing this, my little angel dumplin’ is chillin’ in his crib, singing happy songs about how much he loves his mother because of my undying affection for him.  He is holding his Momo blankie and thinking of all the fun times he had with me today. Like when he threw that soup can at my head.  Or when he picked up a baseball bat and hit me as hard as he could.  Or, here is the best part, when he grabbed a glass bowl that I was eating from and hit me directly in the nose and I seriously thought it was broken.  His favorite part of the day, I’m sure, is laughing at me as I tried to get him to stay in “the time out corner”.  This escape from baby prison game is THE BEST!  You know how psychopaths on TV like to smile as they’re about to torture their victims?  Well, I think my baby might be a psychopath.  This brings me to a quick flashback story.  It’s the reason I’m here-in this amazing situation.  It’s the reason for my punishment. Continue reading

The Reasons I Cry

I cry all the time.  I’m not depressed.  I’m actually a pretty happy person.  Life hands me some lemons, but usually it’s all lemonade and smiles around here.  Show me a commercial with the perfect soundtrack and a well developed story line and I’ll show you an admiring consumer attempting to hold back the tears.  You know that really awkward scene in American Beauty?  Where weird guy next door describes the movement of a plastic bag floating around in the wind (pre-Katy Perry, thank you very much) and he starts crying at the beauty of it?  I was right there with him.  Yes, emo-stoner-guy!  Yes!  There is beauty in trash!  Normal isn’t beautiful!  Pain is in beauty and beauty is in PAIN! Continue reading

A Toast To Second Firsts

As I sit here watching my beautiful little angel puff attempting to eat his Disney pasta and peas, I can’t help but reminisce of a specific moment in my life.  It was right after my wisdom teeth had been taken out.  I was attempting to feed myself some Kraft Mac and Cheese (THE BEST PASTA IN A BOX EVER), but was so  discombobulated that I couldn’t find my mouth.  It was so frustrating.  I was starving and all I wanted more than anything in the world was the delicious, orange, mushy-ness in my pie hole.  Instead, I stabbed my cheeks repeatedly with four tiny knives like a drunken idiot. Continue reading

My Mom Is The Worst

If your mother is anything like mine, it can freak you out when you find yourself saying or doing something the way she does.  My mother is truly saddened when she sees a young lady (like myself) who chooses not to wear make up or fix her hair.  It drove me nuts growing up.  I was a tshirt and jeans kind of kid.  I don’t think I ever actually fixed my hair until….well….11th grade?  Seriously.  And that was only occasionally.  I refused to wear contacts until then, too.  In hind sight, it is hilarious to me that these things bothered her.  She is the one who taught me to never pay full price for anything.  Abercrombie and Fitch was robbing people if they thought she was going to pay $50 for a tshirt.  SHE WAS RIGHT.  That is insane.  It’s a piece of cotton that has A and F on it.  YOU are PAYING Abercrombie to walk around and advertise for them.  When I was very little, I’m sure she fixed my hair, but once I got old enough to dress myself and whatnot, she never really said, “Okay, Becca.  This is how you fix your hair.”  She didn’t pick out my outfits.  I did.  I had the opportunity to make my own decisions and I chose to do what required the least amount of effort possible.  Which drove her nuts.  Which drove ME nuts.  We were very different people.  I was an early teen who hated school, girls who care about A and F, and most of all, my mother.  She. Was. The. Worst.  She wanted me to study.  She wanted me to do my homework.  She wanted me to SWEEP THE DINING ROOM LIKE I WAS SOME SORT OF HOUSE ELF.  What was wrong with her?  She was upset with me when my teacher called her and said that it looked like I may have forged her signature on my report card.  WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO, MOM?!  I GOT A C IN HISTORY!  She even made me call and apologize to my evil teacher like it was MY fault that she noticed that my mother’s handwriting looked different.  Then, when I decided I wanted to join a softball team because my best friend was doing it, she wouldn’t let me quit.  IT WAS HOT!  I was an awful softball player and she still made me stick with it until the end of the season.  She came to every game just to make sure I went.  Or to root me on.  I don’t know.  Moms, right?  Ugh!  Now, as an adult, I find myself doing things the way she did and it just totally freaks me out.  Here are some things I have to blame on my mother: Continue reading