It puts the lotion on it’s skin

Alright, I have a confession. I have no idea how to take care of my skin.

::watches all the men turn and run out the door::


Anyway, I don’t. I’m 32 years old and I wash my face with what I assume is meant for teenagers. That is, when I haven’t run out and just use whatever’s in the shower that will foam. Bar soap, liquid soap. I’ve been known to use shampoo on occasion. It’s the worst when I’ve run out of facial cleanser (that’s fancy grown up lady-person talk for face soap) AND I’ve run out of my regular soap and I have to use AH’s soap, so I spend the rest of the day smelling like I rubbed my face in a man’s armpit. A fresh, clean armpit, but a manly armpit, nonetheless.

A feel sorry for myself kind of day

A coworker told me yesterday, in one of those moments that required wisdom, that we should never beat ourselves up about a mistake. Everyone makes them, even those don’t who want to admit it. Chances are, whatever mistake you’ve made can be corrected. It’s just a matter of sacking up and fixing it.

I’ve felt lately like all I’ve done is make mistakes. Poor decisions, inappropriate reactions, and mistakes. I’ve been going too fast or too slow or not at all, backward when I should have gone forward, looked down when I should have kept my head up, lost in my own thoughts when I should have been listening, yelling instead of speaking. I’ve been angry, just angry, and I have no idea why.

People stuff

I asked the Internet if they preferred an excerpt or a full post in their feed reader and the overwhelming majority said full post. So that’s cool. I just switched it because I’m pretty sure that’s probably why my stats and comments are down. If I were one to pay close attention to those things. Which I’m not.

I mean, I LOVE comments and I certainly don’t mind days that prove fruitful, hit-wise, it just isn’t something I bother myself with so much that I ever do much about. So I switched to full post and I expect a dramatic rise in pageviews and comments because whatever the Internet says, I believe. And if that doesn’t happen, my advertisers will be greatly disappointed.

You know what I’ve been thinking about? Besides people stuff? Actually, this IS people stuff, so I guess that’s the answer. People stuff. Specifically, babies should be ugly. There are too many people in the world, right? Probably because babies are cute.


Christmas, AMIRITE? It came, it went, and I forgot to take any pictures to prove it happened at all. I toted my camera everywhere I went and kept forgetting to actually use it. We have the photographs in our minds that show we were actually here and there, smiling and having a wonderful time. We have the gifts we received and the extra weight from festive chocolates and several turkey dinners as evidence of the last few days, and yet my camera card has but a few carefully staged shots taken as an after-thought.


I think I have noise anxiety. I Googled “sensitive to noise” and followed the rabbit hole and landed on noise anxiety and now I think I have it.

When I come home, especially after a particularly busy or stressful day at work, I’m a beast. I’ll admit it. Not always and I certainly don’t intend to be, but I am. And while blaming something or someone else for my mood and behaviour is sort of lame, I’m pretty certain I can pinpoint the volume of my house in the evenings.


Before Christmas and birthdays, we do one-in-one-out with the toys and books. I’m very strict about this and go a little nutbar about it, where the one-in-one-out becomes one-in-ALL-OF-THE-THINGS-out. Every toy they don’t play with, every toy that’s been broken, every toy that found it’s way into our house by way of Happy Meals. Ripped books, baby books, books we’ve read to death. Everything Must Go!


When they cross the threshold of some places, their mind shuts off and whatever nibbling of a demon that lies in wait within every child takes control. There is no longer a difference between indoor and outdoor voices; there is only CAPS LOCK. There is no longer walking or standing or sitting; there is only running, full-tilt. There is no longer patience and courtesy and manners; there is only chaos.

On a good day, they have pure, unadulterated energy coursing through their veins, urging them to maintain constant movement. Their bodies are perpetual motion machines, fueled by oxygen and chocolate milk and fishie crackers. On a good day. When they cross the threshold of some places, they become pint-sized nuclear warheads, detonated upon entry.


The universe seems to always know when you need a punch in the gut to let you know that you’re being an asshole. Not six hours after I pour my heart out about how frustrating my two perfectly normal children have been making me, what with all their behaving like kids and being both seen AND heard, as if that’s such a terrible thing, the universe furrowed her brows, put her hands on her hips, and said ‘oh, no you di’int.’ And then Eirinn projectile vomited the entire contents of her stomach all over the carpet. Then later into a bucket. And some more into the toilet.

Oh, Universe, you old so-and-so. I get it. THANK YOU. A polite note would have sufficed.

Best Laid Plans

It’s not that I try to screw up. Who tries to be so glaringly imperfect? It takes little effort to make such frequent mistakes. It simply comes naturally. I don’t wake up and think “what can I ruin today?” It just…happens.

It’s not often the big things that I get wrong. I’m trying my best with my kids, so I don’t think I’ve wrecked them, yet. I’ve never been the driver in a car accident; I’ve never even gotten a ticket, speeding, parking, or otherwise. I’ve never poisoned anyone or (knock on wood) gotten fired from a job. It’s not the big things I ruin, it’s just everything else.

From The Danish Phrase Leg Godt, Which Means “Play-Well”

On my lunch hour, one precious hour of freedom from my office chair, unchained from this keyboard, detatched from the phone, the one hour a day I breathe fresh air and eat real food, on this hour of lunching, I leave work and rejoin civilized society.

And by “rejoin civilized society”, I generally mean race home, scarf a sandwich, race to my mom’s to visit with Avery for a few minutes before racing back to work. But once in a while, maybe one day in a span of two weeks, I’ll give up that down time to run some errands. Life with kids is hectic, even without appointments and sports, just life with them, and finding time to squeeze in errands is difficult, if not impossible. So sometimes I do a bit of erranding during my lunch hour.