Bye, NaBloPoMo
I’ve written too many posts
Many were quite lame

I beg your pardon
December will be better
I’m taking a break

I will be reading
Just posting less frequently
You are most welcome

**********

New mag subscription
Thank you People Magazine
So glad I signed up

The Sexiest Men
Matt Damon, McDreamy, Clive
Praise you sweet jeebus

Visceral response
My pulse quickens, feel faint
Save me Johnny Depp

To play along for Haiku Friday, follow these steps:1. Write your own haiku on your blog. You can do one or many, all following a theme or just random. What’s a haiku, you ask? Click here.2. Sign the Mister Linky below with your name and the link to your haiku post (the specific post URL, not your generic blog URL). We will delete your link if it doesn’t go to a haiku. If you need help with this, contact Christina or myself.

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This is a post that I really, really wish weren’t true. I’d take it back if I could.

Yesterday, I went completely ballistic, as in totally bat shit crazy, at the library. (And it had nothing to do with the mommies at storytime.)

If there is one thing I hate, it’s late fees. And if there is one thing I hate even more than late fees, is being charged a late fee that I did not actually incur. So when the librarian told me when I was attempting to check out that I had $8 in late fees that I’m certain was an error, I lost it.

Lost it.

Yelling. (I’m pretty sure I said things like, “I’m going to give THEM a piece of my mind.” And, “This place is so stupid. We’re NEVER coming back.” *cowering*What do you have to do, return books a week early to avoid a late fee?” Oh. Yes. I. Did.)

Rolling my eyes.

Stomping.

Huffing.

Name calling.

At the librarian.

In front of the storytime mommies.

In front of my children.

It’s as if my wack-job alter-ego, Trixie LaRue had taken over.

As I’m writing this, it’s only been about two hours since the incident and I’m extremely remorseful and embarrassed. This part of my personality, the part that can blow a fuse without a moment’s notice, is something I hadn’t seen in a long time. It’s something that I’m ashamed of and something that I wish I knew how to control.

There are several instances that I’ve completely lost my cool. Yelling at the man who said some off-color things to my friends and me in an LA restaurant at 2:30 AM, at the beyotch cashier at Kroger, at a friend who changed plans on me. Each of these incidences I had reason to be angry, but my reaction was completely uncalled for. Recalling each of these events still puts a knot in my stomach, I can feel my cheeks flush from the embarrassment.

I wish I could describe what happens in these moments where the anger portion of my brain suddenly becomes unleashed from the logical and sane portion. When I say suddenly, I really do mean suddenly. It’s not as if I was already angry or stewing from another injustice, but without warning I’m shouting and making a complete ass of myself. In an instant I can go from perfectly calm to raging lunatic. As I’m in the throes of my tirade, I realize I should stop. Somehow I just keep ranting, though, knowing how idiotic I am acting, wishing I could stop acting like a childish two-year-old.

I’m not sure I can face going back to storytime next week. I made an ass of myself and I don’t know how to get past that embarrassment. Also, I owe the librarian an apology, but I’m not sure if I have the ‘nads to tell her how sorry I am that she was on the receiving end of my tantrum. The sad thing is, is that Carson had actually really enjoyed storytime yesterday, participating during the songs and interacting with the children. Also, the other moms and I actually had a conversation and I was feeling really great about the day. Then I go and act like such a jerk. Because of $8.

I’ve been imagining all day that after I left, the librarians were in the break room saying, “Bless her heart, she was being such an asshole!” That at least puts a little smile on my face.

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The night before we left Missouri to return home to Alabama, a 12+ hour trip, thankyouverymuch, both of my children decided that sleeping was for sissies and that screaming their lungs out was what all the “cool” kids were doing. Tate took the first shift with Carson, trying to calm him. After over an hour, I reluctantly went in to rescue Tate since I could hear the tone in his voice getting angrier by the minute. He seemed both relieved and irritated by my rescue attempt, but I think just my presence helped to settle both Tate and Carson.

I was able to return to bed, and Tate finally got Carson to sleep about an hour later and returned to bed. Literally within seconds of lying down, Ella started fussing. I heard Tate mutter “DAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMIIIIITTTTTT,” under his breath, and since he’d just spent the last two hours with Carson, I got up with Ella to calm her. She finally fell back to sleep after what seemed like four hours, but was probably something like 20 minutes.

Being a person who desperately needs her beauty sleep, I was so incredibly pissed when after about 30 minutes, Ella decided to wake up again. This time I muttered something (NOT under my breath) about throwing her out the window and letting her fend for herself.

“At least it will be quiet in here and we can finally sleep,” I huffed.

Sensing my obvious frustration (Tate is quick like that), he offered to take this shift with Ella. Unfortunately, she wanted only Mommy and Mommy’s boobies to fall back to sleep. I ended up feeding her and getting her back to sleep around 3 AM, an hour before our alarm was set to go off.

Both Tate and I were exhausted on our drive home. Even the tiniest of irritations could have sent each of us over the edge. Somehow, we were able to take turns having our own tantrums while the other remained calm, cool, and collected.

Tate and I seem to know how to balance the other’s mood. He (usually) seems to know when I’m at my wit’s end and ready to snap. Even when I adamantly deny needing a break, he’ll take over kid duty or cooking duty or whatever duty, and let me simmer down. The same thing is true when he is obviously about to lose it. I sweep in, take over, and give him the much needed break. Often, I feel somewhat resentful when I have to be the sane one, since I spent the majority of everyday attempting this sane facade. I suspect he feels the same resentment when he’s just returned from a stressful day at work and immediately has to take over when he walks in the door and finds me teetering on the edge of chaos.

Somehow we maintain this completely necessary balance. We’re a good team, Tate and I.

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I really enjoyed reading all of your comments in relation to my post about my name being Jen/Jenny/Jennifer. Apparently name posts were big while I was gone. Swistle and Shelly Overlook had a really fun posts about names also. Swistle’s post was about regretting the name you chose for your child. I commented that I LOVE my children’s names and do not have any regrets for the names Tate and I chose. Shelly Overlook wrote about whether or not you like your own name and if not, would you change it. I jokingly commented that if I weren’t Jen/Jenny/Jennifer, I wouldn’t mind being called Trixie LaRue.

All of these posts got me thinking about what my name would have been had I been a boy. I’m pretty sure I would have been Shawn Scott. Blech. Not the greatest combination of names in my opinion. I like the names individually, but not paired together. Also, I prefer Shawn to be spelled S-E-A-N. My brother, had he been a girl, would have been Elizabeth Lane, Beth for short. I think it’s interesting that my parents didn’t keep the name Shawn Scott and bestow it upon my brother. Of course, when Ella was born, I didn’t keep the girl name we’d chosen if Carson would have been a girl (Emeline Siobhan).

What would your name have been had you been the other gender? What names would your children have been had they been the other gender? Did you use the other name chosen for your first child when your second (or third, fourth….) was born?

***********

By the way this is my 301st post and sometime in November was my one year blogiversary. It’s hard to say the exact date since I deleted lots of my original posts and pre-dated others.

I appreciate all of you out there in BlogLand and credit you with helping me feel like “me” again.

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I guess Google Reader can’t count past 1000. For the first time since last the Friday before Thanksgiving, I checked Google Reader to find 1000+ unread items.

In between laundry, house cleaning, going through a weeks worth of emails, and deprogramming my children’s new found belief that there is always someone available to play with them, I’ll do my best to read a few blogs and attempt to catch up.

In the event that in the past week you’ve written an unbelievable, earth-shattering post that you are certain I can’t live without reading, leave me the link in the comments so it doesn’t feel the wrath of the “Mark all as read” button.

Thank you and good day.

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It’s 8 AM and I’ve already been in three states. I’m currently in Tennessee desperately hoping to find a Cracker Barrel soon.

Also, I may be putting my children up for auction right here on this very blog. Bidding will begin at a penny.

Are we there yet?

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You know those cheesy gifts you get people when they turn 40 (or 50, or 60…) that say stuff like “over the hill?”

Sure you do.

(On an aside, my 40th birthday is coming up in a little over 7 years, you may want to be begin party planning now to assure a prime location for all attendees. Sushi would be an excellent choice for the party menu. As for gifts, no cheesy coffee cups for me, thank you, but I’d adore a convertible.)

My in-laws have a coffee cup that says:

Life begins at 40.
And so does cosmetic surgery, bladder trouble, high fiber diets, liver spots, hair replacement treatment, sitz baths, eczema and senility.

With the exception of liver spots, how is this any different than what happens after you become a mother?

Cosmetic surgery? F*ck yeah I need it. My boobs will be to my ankles after breastfeeding Carson and now Ella. My stomach will never be flat again without surgical intervention. There are a few other things I could think of that need work, but in the interest of not disgusting you all, I’ll stop there.

Bladder trouble? Sneezing, coughing, laughing…all make me pee in my pants. Just a little.

High fiber diets? Not that I know anything about hemorrhoids, but I hear that high fiber diets are excellent in helping with this little (or enormous) gift of motherhood.

Hair replacement treatment? You know, from pulling it out in frustration over sleep issues, toddlers using poop for fingerpainting, and other “joys” of motherhood.

Sitz Baths? See high fiber diets. Also a definite must after childbirth.

Eczema? Am I the only one with weird skin issues after having a baby?

Senility? Pregnancy brain, coupled with the remainder of my brain leaking out of my boobs at each feeding, has made conversations with me sound like, “Can you get me that thing? The one over there in that thing? What? I’m supposed to be where right now? Shit.”

See? Motherhood. It’s the new 40.

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