Messy Mama

I am a messy person. I’ve been messy since I was born. I’m not kidding. I popped out and grabbed twelve swaddling blankets and threw them about the room. Then, I politely asked the nurse for another one because I had lost the others. Coming home from school, I would violently kick of my shoes. They landed where they landed. The only time I cleaned my room was when my mom would say I couldn’t (insert fun activity here) until I cleaned my room. I had chores. I did chores. I had to help clean the house. I don’t think I can blame this on my parents. I’m scatterbrained inside and out. The best part about this issue is that clutter makes me crazy. It actually makes me feel icky. I am so much sharper and happily in an organized space, but it is in my very being to be messy. Continue reading

Advertisements

It’s Okay To Be Bored

Picture yourself in a small white house, in a pink room with white wicker furniture, lying on a bedspread covered in a signature 1990’s rose pattern.  You are 7 years old.  Your best friend can’t come over this weekend, you are sick of the same old toys, you’ve been staring at your ceiling fan for 20 minutes, and you are bored out of your little mind.  You walk into your parents’ room and desperately proclaimed, “I. Am. So. BORED!”

Then, she looks at you.  The classic Mom look, her gigantic glasses reflecting back at you with a confident smirk.  She knows exactly what to say.  “If you’re bored, I’m sure I can find something for you to do.” Continue reading

Mother Of Two

Isn’t it weird how we’re always in some specific phase of life that we don’t exactly acknowledge until it’s passed?  That sentence felt complicated.  What I mean, though, is kind of complicated.  Okay, so right now, I have two kids, right?  Yes.  Yes, I do.  I am aware of that, but because I am going through this right now, it’s hard to appreciate it.  There are the little moments when Jack is sweetly talking to Juliet that I can stop and step outside of myself and see that I am so lucky.  These are moments I’m sure I’ll have to remind myself of when they both get a little older and start liking each other a little less. Continue reading

Friends Old and New

It’s kind of crazy that I was just writing about friendship last week when I got a message from my old pal (and elementary school fiance’) Ari asking if we would like to join him and one of my dear high school BFFs for a day at The Museum of Aviation.  Um.  Yes.  Duh.  What time?

Ari and Anna were two of my very good friends in high school.  Ari and I go WAY back to literally learning how to speak in speech therapy at elementary school.  I knew Anna as a kid, but we didn’t become super good friends until my mom forced me to stop hanging out with the bad kids in middle school.  Luckily, the good kids were also entertaining. Continue reading

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

Y2K AND THREENAGERS

Y’all remember Y2K?  If you don’t, congratulations, you are incredibly and luckily young.  I was in 7th grade when I was first warned.  My science teacher, an older gentleman, made it very clear that we were to be prepared.  The computers.  ALL THE COMPUTERS.  Like….Errrrrwhere….were going to shut down.  For some reason, this meant the world was pretty much going to stop working.  Because the computers…um…I don’t know….didn’t know what year it was or something.  Like I said, I was in 7th grade.   Continue reading

When People Are Mean

Oh, Lord, y’all. I’ve already shared this part of myself with you. I have a few pet peeves, but the number one tear-my-hair-out, blindly screaming, call your mother and tell her what you did peeve is meanness. When someone is mean to me or someone I love I go from super chill Becca to white trash redneck angry girl whose name is not pronounceable through her gritted teeth. Having a child has taken these psychotic episodes to another level-and because usually the perpetrator is aged in the single digits, I have to control myself during these times more than ever. Have you ever wanted to grab a 6-year-old by the ear and drag him away while his mother watched? No. Uh. Right. Me neither. Continue reading