When I was 13 years old I had a boyfriend. My first boyfriend. He was actually my secret boyfriend, because I wasn’t allowed to date. The only time that I could talk to him was before school, during school, after school, and through messages he relayed to my best friend at night. (She could talk on the phone to boys. I could not.) I was having a Secret Love Affair. I was so scandalous.
Anyway. He gave me his watch as a promise of our love. And I gave him little heart shaped doodles with our initials drawn into them. S.S LOVES G.F Forever and Ever and EVER. Our young love knew no boundaries.
At our lunch hour we wouldn’t eat lunch, we would sit on a wooden bench, that was right outside of the cafeteria door, holding hands. It was magical, with a capital “M.” Those were the BEST 3 days of my life.
He broke up with me. Well…SHE broke up with me for him.
I can remember it like it was yesterday. My best friend, who didn’t want to relay the message via telephone, walked over to my house and said, “G.F. wants to breakup. He has a new girlfriend.”
“He can’t break up with me because I love him!”
“And he says he want his watch back.”
“But I love this watch like I love him!”
“He already has a new girlfriend”
“Wait a minute….how can he have a new girlfriend already?”
“Well…you can’t talk on the phone or really even date boys…and I can…so you know.”
I hate minivans. I don’t hate moms or dads who drive minivans. I just hate minivans. I’ve always said there “would be no way in hell I’m driving a minivan!” No. Way. No. How.
Who cares if they’re roomier? Who cares if I can pack around way more stuff in them? I don’t want comfort. I have my cool mom rep to protect. And dammit, I can’t protect it driving around in a minivan. Silly, right? Especially, for a mother of 7 children…and 1 husband…and 2…okay 3 dogs, if you count my brother’s dog that’s been here for months….and 6 bikes…and a portable grill…okay, you get the picture.
Well.
You have to be careful of the words that you spew into the ever listening universe. Because sometimes, my dear readers, they come back with vengeance, and bite you in the badonkadonk. And since I have a big badonkadonk, there was a lot of biting going on.
I want a minivan. All because of this rap video. I want to be a minivan drivin’ rappin’ mama, too! And my husband’s response to this: “if your friends jump off a bridge, are you going to follow?”
Lesson learned, dear husband.
But.
Um…how far is the jump? I think I can handle a 2-3 feet jump. People jump off of rooftops all the time and live. I’m just stating a fact.
So for the last few day I’ve been in a semi-slump. Not really sad. And not really happy. To tell you the truth I wish my hormones would just pick a side. Sad or Happy. It’s really not that hard. Anyway, I was discussing this dilemma with Michael the other night…and here’s his take on it.
Me: I’m sad and happy.
Michael: Are you sad happy? Or happy sad?
Me: I think it’s more like sad happy happy sad sad.
Michael: So the sad dominates the happy?
Me: I think so. The sad is the winner here.
Michael: I have a solution.
Me: I knew you would. That’s why I married you. You’re the “tweaker.” You solve all problems. So. What’s the solution?
Michael: You should take a bath. Studies show that when a person has build up deposits of dirt on their body, it can affect their mood.
If you had a day alone without the spouse or children, what would you do? I thought about this today, and came up with my top 5 things I would do if ever left home alone:
Shower: Yes, I know a daily shower should be apart of my normal routine. But. 7 kids, 4 dogs, 1 husband, and a container vegetable garden say otherwise.
Brush my teeth slowly: Looks like my day alone would be dedicated to my hygiene. I digress. While my husband and children hum lovely show tunes while brushing their teeth…I have to think of my dental hygiene as a covert operation. Get in. Get out.
Hog the Bed: Technically, I wouldn’t be hogging the bed if I were home alone. But since I can’t hog the bed any other time. This would be the perfect opportunity. Right now I’m designated to a small landing strip in the upper corner of my bed. If I move from this teeny tiny landing strip, I wake up mysteriously covered in pee. Accident? I think not. It’s a warning. STAY ON YOUR LANDING STRIP OR ELSE.
Exercise: The last time I exercised Jane Fonda was the hard body on the block. Wait. Has it really been that long? I double digress. Anyway, I’d pop a Jillian Michaels DVD in and let her Work. It. Out. I would then thank her for such a wonderful workout that I so badly needed.
Make a milkshake: After the birth of my firstborn, the joy of savoring a milkshake by myself was RIPPED away from me. Literally torn from my hands. I have the bruises to prove it. So I would make me the most thickest and sweetest milkshake ever made – and drink it. ALL ALONE.
See. I don’t ask for much. My day alone would be oddly boring, yet perfect to me. What exciting things would you do?
Yesterday, we replanted our container vegetable garden. The first time was a success, but our neighbor’s dog thought it was his own personal playground, and tore it apart. It’s okay. We were reimbursed for our troubles. And we got to play in dirt again. Fun times.
The kids are very excited that we’re growing our own food. They never want to shop at the grocery store again. Um…I would love to do that, but we have a LONG way to go before the vegetables start growing. And I’m not very eager to throw on some overalls and call myself Farmer Stesha. It doesn’t have that certain ring to it, you know? Anyway, I won’t do any weekly updates. It’s either hit or miss. Maybe, you’ll see a post with beautiful pictures of tantalizing vegetables, (didn’t that last sentence sound kind of dirty? Tantalizing?) or I’ll post nothing, and pray that you forget about my bogus attempt to grow a container vegetable garden. Either way…I win.
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