Making My Case for Wrapping Paper

Here at Playgroups are No Place for Children, I like to tackle important issues. We have discussed many important issues as Ovaltine consumption, surviving the mob aka Children's Book of the Month Club, and S-E-X. Today's topic is wrapping paper versus gift bags.

With Carson's birthday coming up THIS SUNDAY (holy shit where the hell did TWO YEARS go?), I've been in the midst of party planning, baking, and shopping. I've been imagining the joy on my son's face as he opens his presents. This little daydream of mine includes him ripping the paper of lovingly wrapped gifts and gleaming from ear to ear as he revels in the fantasticness of it all. This fantasy most definitely DOES NOT include gift bags.

Sadly, gift bags seems to be taking over the world. I've tried and tried to find Thomas the Train wrapping paper only to be mocked at every turn by Thomas the Train gift bags. When my parents visited this past weekend, they brought Carson's birthday gifts. They brought birthday gifts in gift bags. I died a little on the inside, watching him opening these bagged gifts. Something is just lost when you don't get to tear paper to reveal the prize inside.

I'm guilty of caving in to the lure of the gift bag. For one, it's easy, quick, and they can be reused which is good in our disposable society. (See how I can make a lame topic ever so relevant!) But I can't help but feel sad that children in the future are going to miss out on the joy that is unwrapping a gift. It's like a sacred right of childhood (and adulthood, for that matter) is being replaced by the gift bag.

To quickly summarize,
Ripping open a wrapped gift...good!!
Saving the planet with reusable gift bags...good, but takes away joy from our children!
Taking away joy from a child...BAD! Very, very bad!!

Please consider this the next time you have to choose between wrapping a gift or simply shoving it in a gift bag. Thank you for your attention to this matter.

PS. To those of you who may be attending Carson's party, it's totally fine if his present is in a gift bag. Totally. Fine. Really. Not that we expect a gift! No! But in the event that you bring a gift I'll we'll survive if it's in a bag.

Time

I watch the clock. 5:30? Why hasn't he called? I want him to call. I need a break.

When will this stage pass, sleepless nights, colic, "no", throwing food on the floor, naps chaining me to the house...

Next summer Ella will be walking, it will be easier.

Next year Carson will be, I will be, Tate will be...

I'm always waiting.

It seems to be such a shame that I'm not enjoying the moments more. I know I should savor these times, not wish them away.

When it comes to the concept of time, I'm always at odds. I wish it away, yet I wish for it to last longer, too. Now that we've had children, Tate and I have such little time together. Yet in the evenings, I find that it's hard to switch gears from "Mom" to "wife." I don't know how to go from covered in spit-up and washing dinner off little hands to adult conversationalist and lover.

There's never enough time to just be me.

The ability to make time for everyone, Carson, Ella, Tate, friends, seems impossible. I don't know how to balance everyone's needs. I joked yesterday about needing help. But really, it's not a joke. I'm tired. I'm having trouble keeping up.

I'm always overextended.

I miss the days of being childless and carefree. Planning my days however I felt, not planning around meals and naps and bedtimes. I miss going out to dinner, having nice clothes, being the other half of a great couple, and driving fast with the windows down and music blaring. I wished this time away, wanting children. Wanting to be truly grown up.

Well here I am grown up. So lucky to have a wonderful husband, healthy and beautiful children. I have everything I ever dreamed of having and more. But, why am I not finding the contentment I'd thought I'd have?

Is this IT for the rest of my life? Making meals, wiping butts, calming tantrums, getting up in the night, disciplining, always waiting for the next thing.

Or is THIS it? Watching my kids grow and flourish, encouraging them, making them feel loved, going to baseball games and dance recitals, crying on their first days of school, remembering to savor the here and now.

Either way, I don't know where I fit. When do I get to be me?

*****
On a somewhat related note, check out my recipe blog for a delicious recipe from Impostor Mom, Spicy Honey-Glazed Chicken. Mmm, mmm, mmm. Delicioso.

September 11

My story isn't unique. I'm sure that we all remember where we were, what we were doing when we heard about the attack on the World Trade Center.

I was working at an elementary school in Knoxville, TN. I remember having lots to do that morning, phone calls, copies to make, and lessons to plan. One of my co-workers told me that a plane had hit the World Trade Center in New York. I was standing in the copy room and I thought she was mistaken. She turned on the Today Show. There were images of smoke billowing out of one of the towers. We talked about how odd it was for a plane to hit a building. Had the pilot suffered some sort of health issue and was not able to fly the plane? Had there been a terrible mix-up by air traffic controllers?

As the tragedy of the attack on this country unfolded that day, I felt fear, shock, anger, and confusion, as probably most everyone did. We were told to not say anything to the children, as our principal felt it was their parent's responsibility to make the decision on how to handle telling them. We were told to act normal for the children. Oddly enough, acting normal is what I think got me through the day.

That night, and for weeks afterwards, I was glued to my TV. I couldn't stop watching the non-stop coverage. I remember being very disturbed by a report by Rehema Ellis on NBC where victim's family members were pleading with the public to help them find their missing loved ones, showing worn and tattered pictures or make-shift missing posters. The desperation of these people has never left me.

Tate eventually made me stop watching TV. We bought our first house a few weeks after the attack, and the stress of moving made me focus on something besides the loss and devastation. I'm sure the news will be filled today with stories and reports from September 11. I still can't really watch this stuff, the wound still feels fresh. I'll always remember.

****************
I'm going to hug my children and my husband a little harder today. I'll count my blessings. Back to my regular scheduled bitching tomorrow.

Loose Ends and a Call For Questions

I hate having loose ends.

Lately, I feel like all I have is loose ends. And split ends, too! I could really use a haircut, but that's neither here nor there.

Moving right along. My post the other day about what subjects I should cover has lead me to this conclusion. You all are completely unable to come to a consensus. I'm now going to be forced to cover all the topics. Not sure when I'll get to them all, but at sometime or another I'll be discussing:

1. Alabama, in a series of posts I've tentatively titled "Stars Fell On." There's just too much to say in one post.
2. Underwear shopping and frumpy clothes and mom jeans will be lumped into one post.
3. I started a recipe blog, just in case you didn't already know. I've already posted 3 easy recipes for your enjoyment.
4. And last but not least, if you'd like to ask me a question that I'll answer in future post, please leave it in the comments or email me at playgroupie at gmail dot com. Ask away. One question per person, please! I'll give you until Friday to dazzle me with your quesions.

I'm feeling much better about my loose ends now. I will be able to sleep tonight. The sad thing is, is that you probably think I'm joking about being able to sleep. I'm not.

A Peek Inside My Wishy Washy Brain

So many blog topics, so little talent. I've been working on drafts of, I don't know, about 10 blog posts for weeks.

What's sad is that none of these topics is really speaking to me. Instead these topics are just mocking me and whispering under their breath, "don't publish me! I suck. I'm boring."

These are the topics for which I merely have an idea OR have half finished (or half started, I suppose.)

1. Life in Alabama and why it sucks (not Alabama per se, just living so far from home.)

2. Life in Alabama and why I like it.

(See, I've become wishy washy, can't make up my mind!)

3. Funny breastfeeding quips.

4. Why I sometimes wish I wasn't breastfeeding.

(More proof of my wishy washiness. I made up that word, "washiness.")

5. My shopping trip to buy underwear, which was far more difficult than it should have been.

6. My fear of granny panties and mom jeans. Actually my fear that I am becoming *gasp* frumpy.

7. How we're warping our kids.

8. Recipes that I've come up with...Eggplant roll-ups, baseball meat, and chicken fajita egg casserole.

9. Copying Swistle's and Sundry's ideas and having you all quiz/interview me. You'd ask me questions, I'd answer them. Fun, right?

Anything sound interesting to you? Any suggestions for other post topics? My brain is shriveling up like an unloved penis.

Help me.

Smoking Cigarettes and Shouting Obscenities

I've received emails from several of you in reference to my Smoke Break post saying something along the lines that you're surprised that I'm a smoker.

I'm not a smoker. Anymore, that is. Actually, I've never really been a smoker, but more of a "smoke when I drink" kind of girl. That said, I still drink, but haven't smoked a cigarette in years. At least four years, I think. And when I did smoke, it was usually other people's cigarettes, which we all know don't actually harm you. Only the cigarettes you buy yourself harm you.

Why do I feel the need to post about this, you ask? I have no idea, I suppose I don't want you picturing me with a cig hanging out of the side of my mouth while I'm screaming obscenities at my children through the door of my trailer while wearing a a wife beater tee and no bra. Not that I think people who smoke scream obscenities or live in trailers and don't wear bras. It was just the image I'd conjured up in my head of myself and it made me laugh. Out loud.

Thank you all for your concern regarding my lungs' health.

I named the post "Smoke Break" because I was referring to the fact that people who work outside the home at paying jobs, get little breaks (ie, smoke breaks) throughout the day. We as Moms do not get this same courtesy, as you already (painfully) know.

That is all.

Now back to your regular scheduled posting.

I'm So Mad I Could Spit is the Best Title I Can Come Up With Right Now

Since I'm a big, giant weenie and hate confrontation, when a business makes me angry, I do the only thing I know to do. I write a letter. Yes, I know that when they receive this letter, the manager and employees sit around laughing at me and calling me every name in the book. Truly, I wish I could confront these offenders in person, but when I'm mad I lose the ability to speak in complete, coherent sentences. And I cry, well, blubber really. It's embarrassing. So, the letter has always been my only recourse.

I've written my fair share of letters to businesses in the past who've pissed me off. Target, Olive Garden, and Sears Portrait Studio have all been on the receiving end of a scathing letter, damning the injustice bestowed upon me.

So in lieu of a traditional face to face smackdown, here's the letter I'd like to send to Walgreens after yet another irritating experience with their pharmacy drive-thru.

Dear Manager of Shitty-Ass Walgreens Pharmacy,
F*ck you and all your bitch-ass employees. You've f*cked with me one time too many. Next time you piss me off and refuse my discount prescription card with your lame-ass excuses and then f*ck up my receipt, I'm going to come straight through that plate glass window and whoop your ass. You hear me? I'm not f*cking around.

F*ck you very much,
Jennifer Playgroupie
Your Worst Nightmare

Too much?

Yes, I suspect it is. It doesn't make me seem intelligent, but rather like a Jerry Springer wanna be. Here's what I think I'll send instead. Feel free to offer suggestions to make it sound just "go f*ck yourself" enough without making me sound like I'm T-RASH.

Dear Walgreens Pharmacy Manager,
RE: transaction on Tuesday Morning, August 21, 2007

I am writing this letter to convey my displeasure over this morning's transaction. Every time I come to the drive-through, I'm inconvenienced and treated rudely by your staff. This morning was no different, as your clerk informed me that the Prevacid Discount Card required a new prescription before it could be used. I read the fine print on the card and the paperwork I received from Prevacid and I'm sure that your need for a new prescription is false. However, since I'm not one to argue, I didn't question with the clerk.

I also didn't complain when your clerk then made an error and was not able to print a regular receipt. Instead I got a receipt printed on typing paper that looked like something I could have typed myself at home. Since I pay for prescriptions with my Flexible Spending Account card, I am often asked to provide proof with a receipt that the purchases made were indeed allowable. The receipt you provided will not be sufficient for proof and I'll be forced to reimburse my own FSA, as I'm sure they will deny the charge.

These are just two examples from one experience with your pharmacy. I could list all the times you've inconvenienced me or were rude like when I waited for 45 minutes at the drive-thru window with a screaming newborn or the time your pharmacy failed to fill my mastitis medication eventhough you'd had the prescription for eight hours, but I think these examples are sufficient in conveying my utter and complete dismay. In all of these experiences, not once has anyone ever said "I'm sorry for your inconvenience" or "Thank you so much for your patience."

Since you are the only drive-thru pharmacy in {Shitty Town}, AL, I feel that I'm forced to keep my prescriptions with you. However, I'm through being friendly and not complaining. The next time I'm inconvenienced (and of course there will be a next time, you've already exhibited a pattern), I'm going to complain loudly. I will keep complaining until you've have met my needs.


Please consider training your employees in basic manners that include using words such as "thank you" and "I'm sorry." These simple changes could do a lot for disgruntled customers such as myself.

Thank you,

Jennifer Playgroupie

*******
The letter is....lacking. It needs more "oomph." Help!!


Please? See, I know how to use MY manners.

A Very Simple Request

I know that ALL bloggers in the blogosphere are reading this, so LISTEN UP!

I'm very far behind in my blog reading. When you keep posting, I get even further behind. Shit, people it's ONLY Monday and my Google Reader has a major cramp. Seeing 100+ posts to read doesn't make me happy, it makes me ill. I'm up to my armpits in unread posts. My eyes are crossing from all this reading, my fingertips bleeding. (The part about my fingertips bleeding isn't true, that would be ridiculous.)

Please EVERYONE take a week off from posting so that I can catch up. I don't see why the ENTIRE blogosphere can't take a break just FOR ME. Actually, I'm sure there are others that would appreciate the chance to catch up.

No more posting until I say so, ya hear?

A Freebie

Tate had some errands to run tonight. I don't know if I've ever been so excited as I was tonight, knowing I would be able to play on the Internet without feeling guilty.

It's only been a short time since I've drastically cut down on my Internet time. And I gotta tell you, it's been a hard habit to break (you're going to have that Chicago song in your head now, aren't you?!). Every evening, Tate asks me if I need to do anything on the Internet and every night I lie and tell him "no."

When we're watching TV, all I can think about is the blogs I'd rather be reading, the emails I need to answer, the posts I wish I were writing. I can't really focus on anything, I'm so preoccupied with the computer.

I'm seriously addicted. It's like the forbidden fruit. I can't have it, so I want it more.

I miss commenting and reading and writing. There aren't enough hours in the day to balance my love of all things blogging and being a wife.

Clearly, I have issues.

Perception

When I look at my little girl, I see a very serious child. Her scowl lends to her contemplative demeanor.

I wonder if she will continue to be a serious child. Is my perception of her, the true Shel?

I hope for her sake that she won't take life and herself too seriously. It has taken me years to loosen up, go with the flow and enjoy life. In the past, anger, resentment, and a chip on my shoulder clouded my attitude.

Was my "bad ass" attitude how other's perceived me? Or was I able to play a nicer part in from of others rather than letting people know the real me?

How am I perceived now? In my blog I can be whomever I wish to be. I see myself as being friendly and outgoing. Sometimes I'm funny, sometimes I am melancholy.

But is my blog persona who I am in real life? I think the answer is mostly "yes!" I've recently been more honest about the real me than I've ever been on my blog. I think I am friendly (much more so than I have ever been), but I wouldn't describe myself as outgoing at all.

You should see me in new situations. I have no idea what to say. Approaching someone new and introducing myself is something I force myself to do, it does not come naturally.

This is probably one of the reasons I like blogging so much. I can be the person I want to be, outgoing, easily meeting new friends, making people giggle, having a conversation. I think it's helping me to actually become more of the way I perceive myself.

Are you the same person in real life that you are on your blog?

Sippin' on Gin and Juice

So I was obviously feeling pretty low yesterday. Had a really stressful, no-naps-for-Shel weekend. Thanks for your support and no-advice comments yesterday. It's truly nice to know I'm not the only one.

I did leave for a while Sunday afternoon. I drove around for an hour or so, listening to songs that reminded me of anything besides my children. Mostly, I listened to songs from my college days and was able to feel nineteen again, eventhough it was temporary. It was nice to remember the days when my biggest stress in life was a midterm or where I was going to get a fake ID or why that cute boy hadn't called me yet.

The music was loud, bass thumping. I was that annoying car whose music you can hear when stopped at a red light. I sang as loudly as I could, making up words where I'd forgotten the real lyrics. Smashing Pumpkins, 1979, N'sync, I want you back (shut up), Lady Marmalade, Independent Women, Snoop Dogg...It helped while it lasted.

I cried most of the way home, knowing I was really going back. Driving far away, getting a hotel room sounded pretty tempting.

Admitting how far I've fallen has made me feel unbelievably vulnerable. Pushing publish on yesterday's post left me feeling regretful, but also somehow better.

Let's talk about the giant elephant surrounding my post...Post Partum Depression. I know you're all thinking it, as I did receive emails from many of you.

One week ago, I began taking birth control pills. I have a history with going bat shit crazy on BC pills and it took trying several different types to find the right kind for me. Prior to taking these pills, I did feel stressed, but it wasn't anything that I couldn't handle. I certainly didn't feel the need to escape. I don't want to dismiss the possibility of PPD, but I do suspect these pills are playing a leading role in my sudden inability to feel joy, make decisions, and general feeling of being overwhelmed. That coupled with a newborn who flat out refuses to nap makes for a very weepy and crazy me.

I'm taking myself off the BC pills. In one week if I'm not significantly better, I'm calling my Ob/Gyn and getting help. Also, I'm going to start leaving my house, alone, with no children. I've been pumping milk so that I can actually leave Shel behind.

Thanks again everyone for caring enough to comment. Your support is something I need. Knowing that I'm not alone in my feelings makes me feel less vulnerable and crazy.

Giving My Notice

I don't even know where to begin, I don't know if I can even make any sense.

I'm done.

I'm in so far over my head. The happy Jennifer persona is just gone. I can't pretend anymore that I'm handling all this and that it's hard, but it's okay. It's not okay.

Tate wants me to tell him what's wrong and how he can help me. I don't know what to say.

I just want someone to know what to do. I want someone to swoop in and take over, make it all better. I'm tired of trying to explain myself or explain what would make it better. Please someone just KNOW without me having to say.

Quit asking what I need, what's wrong, how you can help, if I know about "The Happiest Baby on the Block." Fuck the Happiest baby shit. I have a goddamned PH.D in the 5 S's and I'm here to say they don't fucking work.

I don't have any answers.

I'm tired. I don't want to do any of this anymore. I want a break, far away, with no children.

I don't get to do that, though. I signed up for the long haul.

I guess that's motherhood.