Sanity Survival...Getting To Know You

  

     If there’s one thing I can impart to people considering starting a family: Get to know who you are first – not what your parents and others expect you to be  -  and make your communication with your spouse work before you begin this endeavor that occasionally feels like ‘sanity survival’  Perhaps this could be considered, “Step One”?

     You have to have a strong ally, so it may as well be your spouse.  Once the older kids see dissension in the ranks, it’s over. (A toddler just starting to talk qualifies here.)  There’s no Family United Nations Council of treaty to bail you out of the trials…Best advie is to start with a united front.

Good luck with that.

     Seriously, family life is a blessing, but no one ever said that being a mom would be easy.  As a matter of fact, they never said anything.  I had no idea parenting could be so challenging.  I bought into the idea that you, “Find the right man and it’s happily ever after.” I’d love to see that Cinderella sequel.

What?  There isn’t one? It’s not all wonderful?

No, because real life is sometimes not so wonderful.  In fact it can be downright hideously ugly and messy.  To have joy, you have to know and occasionally experience pain.  And yes, hopefully learn something from that pain.

     That nonexistent ‘Cinderella’ sequel might just depict Cinderella after the honeymoon, as suddenly dismayed by the reality that her newfound ‘Prince Charming’ is not always charing, and neither is his mother, the Queen.  In fact, his once impeccable characteristics, including listening skills began to abate after that first little prince or princess arrived.

     In addition to that, ‘Charming’ may have started packing on the royal pounds around the middle, started staking more of an interest in fox hunts, Polo, the ladies in waiting, and a multitude of other things that never before surfaced of seemed important when they married at the palace.  But hey, at least young, naïve princess has her governess, her shoe tailor, direct access to the royal wine cellar, and maybe the good-looking stable boy.

Okay, a little too much embellishing with this ‘fairy tale’.

I am far from a princess, so, I have to laugh at the challenges life throws me.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s definitely joy in marriage and parenting…laughter certainly enriches everything.  Especially, when we question where the balance is and sometimes feel a little out of control.  (Thanks to little people who don’t know how to rationalize…O.K. – some big people too.)

     Emily Dickinson once said, “A little Madness in the spring, is even wholesome for the king.”  In this case, “Queen”.

     Humm…Are we talking, “straight jacket:  “Mommy, I mean the the Queen, needs to go away for a little while, madness?” Or maybe just, The Queen needs a new pair of shoes and a mood stabilizer, Madness?  How about the rest of the seasons there, Emily?

     The second motherhood begins; we get to practice our damage control skills on a daily basis.

 

“What’s behind curtain no. 1 Bob”  (wait, now it’s DREW?)

“I don’t know, but you better know how to manage it and positively, so you don’t screw this ‘PRIZE’ up for life”

“Hurry…CHOOSE”  No pressure there.

“Daily Hidden Doors, Bob...Drew?”

“Do I reeealllly want to play this game?

  “O.k., maybe just not every day.”

“Oh, I HAVE to?”

“Well, can I at least have a few of those aging, blond assistants to help me?

…”No fair, Bob.”

  

     So, we labor and we give birth and we immediately fall in love with these little miracles God gives us…as He’s laughing!

“Yea, fall in love now. Heh heh heh…that’s it, tears of joy.  Yea, you’re going to have to work for joy later and that possible ‘wisdom’ pay-off.

     More tears of joy…and with that joy you will later receive pain and frustration and a plethora of emotions.  That’s right, the whooole gamut.  All so you can grow too.  But you’re completely smitten with this beautiful little being and you completely succumb.

     Yes, my children bring me insurmountable joy, but they can also make me absolutely, certifiably CRAZY at times.  Marriage and Motherhood take you through emotions and experiences we couldn’t fathom we would know before starting a family.  One moment you are content, grateful for all that has been bestowed upon you; full of energy, perhaps even blissfully happy…Joy.

Then?

Without the slightest warning, you feel as though your nerves have been hijacked by some invisible, possibly evil force or alter personality that just thrust you into the ninth circle of hell.  Odds are that you may even be in public while this is occurring.  You may feel as though you could write an appendix to Dante’s, Inferno.   There can be some intensely defining moments!  Options such as running away to become a backup singer for Sting actually becomes a “sane” consideration..for just a moment or few hours; but a moment or few hours later, reality delivers the fact that I have to acknowledge that I can’t sing or leave my children.  Escape for a bit.  He has a beautiful villa in Tuscany.

     I have to look at daily challenges as a means of strengthening my character and wisdom. (I hope) If that were not the case then, well…God would be cruel.  I can’t believe that, so I am buying into the ‘strengthening’ thing  I certainly don’t think He wants me crazy, or Betty Ford bound…of something like that.

     Soooo – it’s Frick & rack meander through marriage & parenting by way of trial & error, a lot of apologies, lessons and thankfully laughter to carry us- to wherever it is we are supposed to be.

     Back to that twelve-step-program.  Let me introduce myself.  I’m Libby Rouleau, thirty-seven years old, married for twelve years, artist, and mom to three children: Jack (10), Will (8), and Anna (4).  All are wonderful; all industrious in their own delightful, yet sometimes maddening way.  They are beautiful, colorful and complex.  There’s really no other way to concisely describe all three.

     My husband, John, grew up in Maine…wonderful French, Canadian family, and of course, the perfect mother.  John is very organized, task-oriented, and truly, ‘Mr. Acts-of-Service’.  I, on   children.  No.  Way off now.

     Oh, what time can reveal!  One very important thing that I have recently discovered is that a key component to having that “good ally”, communicating well and understanding each other, is to look at how your families handled conflict when you were growing up and unfortunately, now too.

     On my side of the family?  Conflict is considered recreational.  I screen all of my calls, texts, and emails for this reason.  John’s side of the family avoids conflict at all costs-  they keep conversations to the surface and don’t know anything about each other.  For example, John’s Dad is one of fifteen siblings, and his mom was one of nine siblings. (Did these women not figure out their cycles?)  John and his only sister, Johanne, do not know a single cousin, and have met only one aunt.  I certainly questioned John about this.  Hello? Quebec is not that far from Maine, even by horse.  I just don’t comprehend why a family does not get together with grandparents & extended family on at least a limited basis, or perhaps talk on the phone?

John didn’t know either.

     John’s Dad, Gil, recently mentioned during a conversation that his sister-in-law, (John & Johanne’s only known aunt) “Ma Tante Mariel”, had died. 

John was visibly very upset and asked when, so we could go to the funeral in Quebec.  His father replied,  “Oh, she died four years ago”…

Put down the phone.

Okay?  She died four years ago and we are just now hearing about it?

It took five years for Gil to hold a Catholic funeral for his wife, Ghislaine.  Sadly, she died at the early age of fifty-seven due to being given an overdose of medication for mere complications due to menopause.  John and I had just started dating when this happened, and I unfortunately, never had the opportunity to meet her.

     Ghislaine was cremated immediately upon her death, and sat in a box on a shelf in John’s sister’s closet for five years.  Now she rests in a mausoleum in a town & state where she has never visited.

     I hope Gil called her remaining siblings after her death!  After all, some of them may still think she’s alive after thirteen years.

We don’t know….they don’t talk about it.

 

     John and I met fourteen years ago while working together at MCI Telecommunications. (a very large Telecommunications company), and now he is an IT Analyst with a competing company.  I stay home with the kids and have an art studio from which I write, paint and sell mostly nursery paintings to a few local boutiques or on commission.  I also substitute teach at the kids school and work a few hours a week as a strength trainer at the YMCA.  Interesting how that came to be, as I didn’t even know the difference between my biceps and triceps when they asked me to be a strength trainer and I was hired to be in marketing.

“You want to tone up what?  Ughhh, excuse me what’s a glute?”

…No lawsuits yet.

 

    

    

 

    

 

 

Random Pieces of A Puzzle

Random Pieces of a Puzzle…. (The first entry from my book written years ago.)

      He is actually surprised.  Again.  “This isn’t new”.   That’s what I often say to my husband, John, when he acts surprised by our kid’s – and often my own, unpredictable behavior in the mornings, evenings, or during the weekends or vacations.  Basically, when he is home from work, spending any amount of time with, “the family”.  Our life is insane, but it sure makes a pretty Christmas card.

     I remind him that, children, specifically ours, are not adults…so do not expect them to behave as such.  Life with young children (who am I kidding?  ANY aged children), is unpredictable and can be challenging.  It can sometimes take you way outside of your parameters of comfort and into a dense, unmapped jungle of anxiety.  My jungle may be, running through the aisles of Target with screaming children for a last minute birthday gift (the party is in fifteen minutes). No list…shame on your sleeve- as well as everywhere else; and a very small window to do so…Doing and saying exactly what we said we wouldn’t, prior to having children.  I am struggling.  I admit it.  Is there a twelve-step program for this?

     I’m certainly not without fault; as I’m reminding him, I can’t help but remind myself that it takes a lot more than, “reactive parenting”, to achieve this fantasy state of existence that he is striving for.  It’s a continuous work in progress that often falls short of our expectations…so you have to tell yourself your life is a learning curve and park your fantasies of perfection at the Labor & Delivery Room door.

     I think my husband watched too many episodes of, “Leave It to Beaver”, as a child.  The image of motherhood June Cleaver portrayed years ago on a TV show, is that – a show, an image…one that couldn’t possibly be attained in the real world by any sane, intelligent woman who experiences any level of joy.  June had to have some dark facet or shortcomings that we viewers didn’t see.  Or else she had a full time house keeper that was never shown.  I take comfort in telling myself that she was a tad bit bipolar, had OCD, missed important appointments, had an eating disorder, and was having an affair with the milkman and that Beaver’s paternity was questionable.  Or, I could live with knowing that she had multiple personalities and by dinner she forgot the other bullshit from the rest of the day.

     God, are you listening?  Is there such thing as a “Mommy Whisperer”…or for that matter a “Man Whisperer”?  There’s one for dogs and one for horses….maybe even sloths by now, surely there must be one for me? I just need a small beacon of hope…a little help here trying to figure out my life and how I actually fit into it.  Sometimes my wants and needs are only important to ME.  And maybe if I can figure out my own messy life, I can figure out the rest of the seemingly perfect women (ok, the entire population), I interact with daily and more important, the people I live with on a daily basis.

 

 

New Blog: https://libbyervin.blogspot.com/

Please go to my new Blog:  https://libbyervin.blogspot.com/

Thank You Note to Mattel for New Barbie...

Written in 2011

 

Here is a "Thank You Note" for Jimmy Fallon...

Thanks Mattel for making a new Barbie that makes my job as a parent to an 11 year old daughter a little more difficult now...Pink hair, Tats, extra piercings, short skirts, skull and cross bones t-shirt, stillettos...

Well, on the plus side, I bet Barbie still has a 40-inch bust with a 14-inch waist.

Of course there will never be, "Muffin Top" Barbie! Where is "Recovering from Plastic Surgery" Barbie?  Bruised and swollen...Maybe spring?

Or, Barbie has breastfed three babies and needs a "lift"? No...we won't be seeing her.

Where's my future leverage now?
"But Mom,  Emily has...even Barbie has...."

TOUGH little girl!!! You are still required by law to sit in the back seat!!!

 

 

 

 

I Never Thought I Would See This...

Sunday, February 14, 2010

 Who have I become? I am in a bidding war on eBay right now with a potential nemesis over what better be less than $50.00, for a Banana Republic, leather bag! I need to get a life... Now, back to see what's going on.

Ok, I'm back and IT-IS-ON....Chick from Long Island, or husband, boyfriend...or whatever you are!

Why do I feel so entitled to this? This is the way auctioning is set up. The rules apply to me as well. It's merely a material thing- that I happen to want at a very low price.
This is what I am reduced to for hitting the 'BROWSE' button? Then typing in 'HANDBAGS'? Click 'WATCHING NOW'? Then, 'BID NOW'? I know....it's ridiculous. But do you know what this bag would sell for, Retail?

I see how you're going to be Long Island....I bet you have too many handbags already. Sure. Unlimited time to spend on searching and bidding for items that you truly don't need. I don't have that kind of time!
Come on! With your persistence, there's a nice Omega watch you could get for under $100.00 if you jump over to that now.

Why this purse? Shouldn't you and your other handbags be determining which one you will use next? Or getting ready for a nice Valentine's Day dinner? Aren't you hungry right now? Go open a bottle of wine and forget about this purse for the next hour and twenty, uh thirty minutes. It's ok. You and your aggressive, clicking, bidding finger just sit..waiting... for the laaast minute to attack...I mean, bid.
 
You know, this could qualify as a competitive sport! Ughhh, now I am stuck here to fight it out. Sorry kids, get yourselves a Pop-Tart! (the organic with whole grains, of course.) Shame is already hunting me down.

Did I say I need to get a life? Ok, maybe a therapist too.

FUNNY FARM STAND UP ACT - Fall of 2007

The following is my (one and only) comedy stand up act (Monologue for Atlanta Job Zone Contest) performed at the Atlanta Funny Farm in 9/07. This had to be edited to less than 4 minutes. Writing it and delivering it are ALL TOGETHER different....

Hi! My name is Libby Rouleau and I am here to tell you about my first job experience.

But first I need to tell you a little bit about how I grew up for you to understand.

My parents divorced when I was twelve… and both are remarried (Dad, more than once… and OH dad is a retired F.B.I. agent and pilot. / That’s really a separate story altogether… Not quite Jerry Springer caliber, but close. / Then again, since I don’t watch Jerry Springer, a stepmother or two from my past, may have already appeared on the show …

Don’t get me wrong, my dad is a GREAT guy. He just lacked some crucial judgment skills when we were younger…That would include some time management skills too – Such as…Quality weekend time with your young daughters should not overlap with your undercover drug busts or going to IHOP to meet F.B.I. informants who look like Charles Manson.

And just from experience, it’s probably NOT a good idea to loan your 8 year old daughter a copy of  “Helter Skelter” about the Charles Manson Family massacres to your 8 year old daughter to read before going to bed. (Pause)
L o nn gg term effects….

Anyway…So that’s a little background..

Thanks to the yellow pages, my first job out of college was working for an adoption agency as a counselor to expectant mothers. YEA…That lasted only a few weeks.
Actually,/ I was fired. I honestly don’t know why they hired me to begin with.
I had no experience dealing with pregnancy other than at the age of 12, watching my hamster that I had for only a week, give birth to seven baby hamsters…She ate one of them and my Dad dropped another.

So realistically, my only experience for this counselor position was that I had had sex before, while trying to AVOID pregnancy, had suffered from bad cramps, and watched a rodent mother eat her young…that’s about as close as I could get to relating to what these young, pregnant women were going through.

Twenty-one years old, equipped with only a bachelor’s degree, bad hamster care, and excruciating cramps and the agency sent me off to Chicago the day after Christmas for several weeks of training.

How in the world am I supposed to “counsel” these young women? Assure them they are making a good decision…Just get a puppy. Taking care of a baby is way outside the parameters of daily dog care… After all, dogs don’t talk back, can’t use weapons, or do drugs, and if they get another dog pregnant, you’re not responsible for the next 18 years of your life. Simple SEE? / Let’s talk birth control.
My first case meeting was with an 18 yr. old pregnant girl at a McDonalds on Chicago’s south west side. She was due to give birth any day, and with her were her, two small daughters; each from different fathers.
Oh, and mom’s gang-related. “What? Yea…Nice homemade tattoos.
No, I don’t want one. They look really good on you though.”

“So, what colors should I not be wearing in this hood right now? Hummm… Freezing verses drive by shooting?Okay, I’ll lose the coat and shirt… So-- it’s snowing, only 18 degrees outside with a wind-chill factor of -14

Questions I need to ask at the next Staff Meeting:
Do I need, as my dad would say, “to pack heat” for this job?…Do I need to get a gun permit or a gang code handbook? Can we go over my benefits, as in Life Insurance? (build) employee protection plan as in a body guard …maybe relocation if necessary as in Des Moines?

Their reason for letting me go? … They didn’t like questions.
ANY QUESTIONS! That led to inflexibility.

“So, the birth mother did a few a drugs and is mildly retarded? You gotta problem with that?” …“The kid will be fine, maybe just a touch of addiction or fetal alcohol syndrome… “Eh, you want to go see that ‘Drag Queen Show’ tonight, before Nikki goes into Labor?” “What’s your name again?”
… “Eh, FORGET ABOUT IT.”

Do I have a choice? I’ll just get my bag. Do I have time to make a quick call? Did I mention that my dad flew Mafioso, Sammy, “The Bull”, Gravano, to trial before he testified against mob boss, John Gotti and Vinni the Chin? Yea…They’re pretty tight now…
That call?AAAGGGHHHH !!!!
Evidently, I wasn’t “flexible enough”. Too many questions for the “Bada Bing- You Want A Baby, No Questions Asked- No Trails Or Birth Parents To Surface” Adoption Agency.
Buh Bye, Bada Bing…

I had to sleep with the lights on for a few months…
Did I say that my name is Libby?

Thank you…and have a great night!

Marley, I mean Truman...Puppy Payoff

First let me start by trying to catch my breath.  I don't think I need to work out anymore; I have a young, yellow, Labrador puppy named Truman!

What once was a "too good to be true, just bought a beautiful, yellow lab puppy- came when you called him, no accidents in the house the first two days. So a few flip flops were casualties, as well as a roll or two of TP? 

I knew what I signed on for; I saw the movie, "Marley &Me".  Labrador Retrievers tend to have a long "puppyhood"...about 2,3 or 4 years.

Life with Truman is like living out  the movie, "Groundhog Day", with Bill Murray, where my day infinitely repeats itself.  I keep telling myself, "sure, I can get through this- he will be such a great adult dog"..."hang in there".

 Now? I think he is my nemesis.  Hopefully this is just  intermittent and temporary.

Now Truman bullies me on a daily basis. He runs from me when it's time to go out or into his Kennel. I think he is convinced that the floor vents are strategically located throughout the house for his convenience to use as urinal drains. The poop piles just keep getting bigger and bigger, along with my tears and vile vocabulary.

Cleaning up after Truman is a definite appetite suppressant.  The Berber carpet on the stairs is starting to develop a haphazard pattern. The many shredable ( Is shredable even a word?) items in the house just multiply. I think our trash service may start charging us more for all of the garbage Truman creates.

 I have, by no choice of my own, started to become a "minimalist". Who needs more than one or two pairs of shoes? Or toilet paper when I am in the bathroom and he comes and takes it before my very eyes, rendering me helpless and  trapped . (Toilet paper is very expensive these days, it is quite a commodity in this house right now, especially since he inhales his very expensive dog food without chewing it, only to regurgitate it back up, and might possibly recycle that.)

Note to everyone: If you are in the market for a large breed puppy, look at the size of their paws as well as the size of their head before seriously considering what your household, bank account and sanity can tolerate!

Our first outing to Pet Smart and our new puppy actually seems to reach celebrity status as far as attention? When at least a dozen customers and employees stop and say to you, “WOW, he's going to be a reeeaalllllly big dog!  Look at the size of those paws!!!!" We couldn't get out of their in less than an hour in a half because people kept stopping us to comment on the appearance and size of Truman. I wasn't concerned a bit.  It wasn’t until our first visit with a new Vet and he asked me if I have ever heard of, “Clifford, The Big Red Dog”,  that I started to emerge from my state of denial about being able to handle a dog of this size, work, and give my children the attention they need.  This would also include keeping the house clean, with progressively fewer contents, as they get eaten or chewed to what is unrecognizable… and keep my nerves intact.

Short-term memory!? I have been through this before, but with a female German-bred, German Shepard, named "Abby". This was nine years ago.  A" friend" (now former  friend) who breeds them, gave Abby  to me because she couldn't take care of her. "Friend",  had recently undergone hip replacement surgery and her husband travelled all of the time. This beautiful Shepard was already five months old and "trained".  I'm guessing that after exhausting myself just trying to get "Abby" into the Suburban, "Friend" was trying to refrain from, what had to be, the most diabolical laughter..."muwhahahahahaha, sucka"!!!

 My children were small at the time that Abby came to live with us. Did I say that I was told that she was "Trained"? I guess my understanding of "trained" varies significantly from that of "Friends".

During the day, while my husband at the time, was working , the kids and I were held hostage by Abby. She was huge and it was impossible to contain her. Kennel, bath, having friends and family over? Nah...Abby wanted no part of any of that. 

Perhaps "friend" thought that as long as Abby didn't maim or kill the members of my little immediate family that little bit of loyalty went along way and constituted as, "fully- trained"? People outside of our household? They were subject to being attacked, or at least frightened to the point that they refused to come to our house anymore. The one advantage to that? Some "boundary challenged" relatives were not seen for months!  or Jehovah's witnesses,  that I wouldn't want to visit, stopped visiting; thus establishing boundaries that I wish I had in place years before. Even my own father, who is retired from the FBI as an undercover, special agent, said he would not come to our door until we got rid of Abby.

Abby would poop huge piles in the house and then eat them. (Saved me a fortune on dog food!) However, her apres-meal activity was to knock down my two year old daughter  and lick her face.

The final straw was when my oldest son had a friend over and Abby lunged at his neck as he was walking up the stairs. I happened to be there just in time to grab her by her collar. 

It was time... I was sad to see her go, but she was a major liability and we couldn't live in damage-control mode anymore. She went to work for the Cobb Co. K-9 unit, under the condition that she could be trained. We're so proud. Hence, I forgot about all of that; like a woman who gives birth, somehow forgets about the tremendous pain she suffered and later has additional children.  It must be God's plan, so the human race can propagate, and people will continue to get pets. 

Back to Truman. I didn't care...I was already in love with little, "Truman". Great passenger rider; actually came when called, didn't bark, didn't eliminate in the house. That was the beginning. Labs are VERY smart dogs. I am now at the point where I am afraid he may corner me into his Kennel and lock me in.

 We no longer need our pest exterminator service, or need to use the filters in the pool, Truman loves to eat bugs, leaves, basically anything he can catch or get a hold of. I think he has an affinity for Haivanas flip flips. Not that I am thinking that he is so smart that he can read brand names....he just seems to gravitate towards those when I forget to close my closet door.  As far as actually trying to adapt to a "minimalist" way of living?  Why can't he shred the ugly, leather, Recliner chair that I can't stand and caved to, for all to see when you walk into the house (No, I didn't purchase this; yes, it's a point of contention). 

As I type this, Marley, I mean Truman ( I, as well as a few neighbors and later, his Obedience Trainer have accidentally referred to him as Marley several times since his terroristic acts have ensued.) is now trying to get a hold of my, "Reef" flip flop, toes included.  He then ventured to the corner of my laptop.  While trying to catch my breath and wipe the slobber off of my scratched up forearm, I push him away as I verbally correct him and try not to scream obscenities.

I'd kill him, but he is so damn cute. What keeps me from killing him? The way he greets me in the morning, the way he follows me everywhere, the way he looks at me when we go for walks, watching him when he sleeps, and his immediate loyalty to me and my entire family. Plus, Truman loves Karaoke- although he isn't very good at it. 

 9/25/11 -  Second Entry. This may be the last entry!   Loving Home, anyone?
You must have a high tolerance for frustration, slobbery, slimy things; not mind visiting a Pet Store very frequently, the ability to quickly forgive, hence, adapt to losing sentimental or expensive items … and contained acreage.

Changes in Truman:  Almost 6 months, 60 pounds.

He now looks full-grown and jumps like a Kangaroo.  That once “cute” loyalty when Truman followed me everywhere?  It is NOT cute anymore. I can’t put on my makeup without him leaning those 60lbs. on me, or basically attempt any task,  while he is outside of his kennel. Now he weighs 130lbs!

“Cute” can segue to “highly annoying” rather quickly in any relationship; like with my ex-husband.

For example, when my ex and I went to France and Italy years ago; I adored him the first four days of our thirteen day trip. By day five?  Contempt, feelings of wanting to flee, or at least take separate cabs hi-jacked those previous favorable feelings.

Truman is also becoming increasingly more expensive; to the point that I may soon be sharing his bowl with him. 54.00 per bag of food that lasts about three weeks. He has eaten through three leashes in one month, including the leather training leash purchased from his trainer.

Dietary changes:   He has recently  developed rather  expensive taste. What used to be the flip flops, socks, molly bolts and razors has  evolved to my Prada eye glasses, Neighbor’s Polo glasses, my favorite Merrell shoes, Dish Towels (only my favorites from Sur La Table). Let me now add, the rug my sister brought me from Morocco. Tears...

Truman loves to B-line into my closet to brush through my Athletic and Business attire, to get as much hair and stink on as many of my clothes as possible.

My changes: I now live on Zyrtec, added to my Advair and I am considering switching from Chanel perfume to Febreeze to ensure I don’t smell like Dog everywhere I go.

Wholesale clubs – now a must. I have to load up on Lint Remover Rollers, TP, Febreeze, Chew Toys and Bones in Bulk, oh, plus wine.

To get through this puppyhood, I am considering Valium at this point…I can’t drink during the day. Hummm…

I am too afraid to show up for the Obedience classes I signed up for. We’ve missed 3 out of 4.  I feel like it is me who needs the Obedience training to get through one class without having a severe anxiety attack.  I am too nervous about what Truman is going to do, that I don’t take in what I am being told to do to correct him. 

On a brighter note, I have taught Truman to sit (not stay though),  so he sits only for a second.  He can shake, “kiss”, but that often comes with a price, because he doesn’t know his own strength and a kiss may cause tears and a possible concussion.

More to come...

 

Curfews In Cairo to Manage Violent Protesting?

  Written in October, 2011:
  

I wonder how the newly imposed curfews are working out in Cairo, Egypt right now?

The protesting has reached the level of severe beatings, driving over humans,murdering and a curfew is imposed to "manage" this?
I am inclined to think that if many are capable of such violence to express feelings of oppression, beliefs, principles, etc., a curfew would be rather ineffective and certainly not going to abate this situation.

"Hummm...I better stop bludgeoning this guy right now and go retrieve my machete- it's time to go in!
Maybe If I leave now, I'll have enough time to stop and pick up some cheap Take-Out Kabobs for the wife and kids!"

Good luck with that...

I Won!! No Tiara. Happiness and... Bangs

Written in 12/2011

 

I don't think I have ever won anything...I got a call last week from my hair salon, Intrigue, telling me that I won a haircut with N.Y. Hair Stylist, Nick Arrojo! (This is a big deal, a haircut alone is worth $500.00....currently, I could not afford to even tip Mr. Arrojo. That free haircut? Tomorrow at 9 a.)

Of course I would be a lot more excited if I didn't have a haircut 3 weeks ago. Alanis Morrissette song?

You have to understand...I am 44 years old and have long hair. I am holding onto my hair length right now, as if I am hanging on to the last bit of collagen  left in the world and if any more is depleted, I may start to become arthritic, or start obsessing about plastic surgery. Ok, I am embellishing just a bit, but? MY HAIR?!!

I am envisioning Nick Arrojo now having an Annie Lennox song stuck in his head and that somehow she becomes his temporary muse and that after his coffee he may think short, spikey hair could just be the thing to change my life for the better. I so hope he had a good experience flying into Atlanta and that he doesn't have too much coffee.
I will simply have to be very up front with Mr. Arrojo tomorrow morning right at the outset of my bum making contact with the chair.

Me: "Uhhh, no creative liberty here, Mr. Arrojo, or we will end up on the national news...don't take off more than 1/8th of a milli-something of a millimeter. You have your scissors, I have mine (and just so you know, I did strength training this morning before I got here...). Just move my hair around for the camera and all will be well."

As it turns out, Nick Arrojo is the most down-to-earth and charming lad I could imagine. I was putty in his hands before I even got near the "chair".
Me: "Bangs? Sure!!! Whatever you think, Nick - after all you are the expert. "Bangs"...that's the first suggestion he threw out. (Bangs were not my friend, in fact, they had been my nemesis since I could grow hair and I had not worn them in over fifteen years.) Once he started though? I really liked what I saw...shocked, curious? In hindsight, Nick could have said, "Let's shave it on one side" and I may have considered it for just a minute...or ten.
What can I say? The man is very charasmatic and he gave me the best haircut I have ever had. I can't stop playing with it! The texture, layers...Most importantly- the Bangs! I think they may now have a long-standing place in my life.

I can now certainly see why celebrities go to Nick and people pay $500.00 for a haircut. Prior to my haircut with him, I thought anyone who would pay that much or take a flight to get a haircut must be familiar with the terms "lockdown" and "time for meds", to consider it. Now? Shhhhh...Ok.

I was so fortunate to win this haircut and have this experience. My problem now?  I am greedy. I am already considering the next cut and ways that I can justify paying for it. I was already using the shampoo, conditioiner, styling mousse, and hairspray from his Nick Arrojo Hair Care Line. They all smell amazing and I am a freak about fragrances.

Remember that "charisma" I mentioned? I walked out of there purchasing several products (He never tried to sell me anything) just uhhh, because?! ( who have I morphed into?)  "Uhhhh, I'll take the blowdryer, (yes, I know I've never even tried it...the brush, the defrizzing gel, more 'color-stay' shampoo, even though my hair is no longer colored(just particularly love the smell of this product)...and...the? whatever that yummy smelling spray is that you used at some point!" Yes, that's it.

I walked out of there thinking, "What a GREAT day!!!" I felt so good that I thought I could run countless errands and spend countless money. ( Ha! Does a healthy haircut contribute to serious delusion?) I stopped and got new contact lenses so I could actually see my new hairstyle, contemplated looking at Zappos online for new boots...then?  I dropped my iPhone and it shattered-Twice. Derp!

You know? I handled it better than I thought I would. I didn't hurl it in anger or scream obscenities at anyone or "some"one. I was actually rational. I went into the phone store, purchased an iPhone 4 with insurance this time, and told the salesperson not to tell or show me the total. Just put the receipt in the bag.

Conclusion: Some of you may not like this...It is absolutely AMAZING what a great haircut can do for happiness! (and hormone levels.)

Thank you Nick Arrojo. You are one very talented guy...