Being the people-pleaser that I am (and the hormonal roller coaster such is me this week), I feel bad to have burdened you with that downer-of-a-Writers-Workship post this morning. {Though, I’ll admit, there’s something cathartic about complaining….}

So…..I’m giving myself a re-do!

And I am doing it because I can.

Turns out, my self-given name of CEO of my household isn’t the only Almighty thing about me. My real name {Christina} actually means “anointed one” and “Christ-like.” How’s that for an ego trip?

Though I’ll answer to names like Mom, Hun, Chris, Ma’am, and Titties, most people just call me Chrissy. I don’t know who gave me that nickname, or when, or why. {insert a bubblegum chewing air-head valley girl accent} It’s so, like, “Chrissy.” And while I totally have some bubblegum chewing airhead ways, I’ve never felt the nickname suited me.

Knowing that “Christina” is such a powerful name, I may start making my friends & family refer to me as such. And do you know why?

Because I can.

Check out some other Writers Workshop posts at Mama’s Losin’ It!

MamaKat asked us to write about our latest complaint for Writers Workshop this week. As a natural complainer/hypochondriac, I need to ask her for clarification of the word “latest.”

Is it latest, as in this very moment? If so, then my latest complaint is that I was up with a toothache since 2am. Despite the fact that I hate the dreaded “D”, and don’t go to him until there is a problem, I have never had a toothache. Ever. So the fact that one actually woke me up & needed 3 motrin to go away sent me into a big ball of worrying and whining (except that no one was listening to me whine ’cause the whole house was asleep!). I have an appointment tomorrow, which mean I won’t be able to manage getting anything done from now ’til then because I’ll be too darn worried. I always get off with a filling, but I am certain this time it’s gonna be a lot worse than that.

Or is it latest, as in the last few days? If so, then my latest complaint is about solar heating. If it’s the right thing to do for the environment, and your wallet, then why does it cost $60,000 to install it? DaddyMac is actually going to spend time sitting down with three different companies to hear more about installing a unit at our house because, down the road, they say you’ll actually make money.

Or is it latest, as in the last week? If so, then my latest complaint is about GAP jeans. I finally found a pair that fit me well. A universal pair, so to speak. I can wear them with a fleece sweatshirt to the park, or with cute boots and a sexy top for dinner with DaddyMac. I love them. So, it was only natural that when I saw a pair of them for sale online in the exact style and size I have, I snatched them right up. But, they didn’t fit. I couldn’t even pull them over my hips! Did you know that GAP jeans are handcut, so you may be a size 4 today, and a 14 tomorrow. Depends on how well the person who cut them can count. Talk about mind games…

I really do try to be a positive person. I don’t like complaining because, well, it gets old. But complaining must just my nature because no matter how hard I try to not to allow myself to “go there,” it always creeps back in and yells BOO in my face!

A few days after DaddyMac and I moved into his childhood home, my mother-in-law asked me a question that would soon change my perspective on a subject I have always questioned. She asked me if I saw a yellow bird flying outside the house.

Her face was hopeful as she waited for me to verify the existence of this bird. I remember sitting there thinking she was crazy, and that her sadness for the loss of her husband of close to 40 years had some to a head. Without question, I knew she was connecting this yellow bird to him. After all, he loved the color yellow and always had a thing for hummingbirds.

I didn’t know how to answer her, so I simply shook my head, “no.”

She went on to tell me about this bird, and how it follows her from room to room. She claimed to hear it tapping on the windows outside the house, claimed it sits on her car door mirror as she gets ready to leave for work. She said she often saw it fly in and out of the bountiful bamboo in the backyard–the bamboo that my father-in-law planted with his bare hands, that represented so much of his personal tranquility and peacefulness.

Later that morning, while unpacking boxes in our garage, I heard this faint tapping. Without thought, I looked up and saw a beautiful yellow bird perched outside the garage door, pecking at the window.

I dropped the box and ran for the phone. I called DaddyMac at work and told him the whole story. He was speechless. He, too, had seen this mysterious yellow bird. He said the only reason he even started paying attention to it was that he saw it so often. He told me that the first time he saw it, he was painting Buckaroo’s bedroom–the very same bedroom that DaddyMac grew up in. He said the bird kept sitting on the outside of the window and he felt its presence as if it were watching him paint.

In the days following the sighting, I saw this yellow bird so many times throughout the day. And my mother-in-law was right. He’d follow me from room to room. His favorite place, though, was to perch himself up on our french doors in our family room. I tried hard for weeks to get his picture, but he’d always fly away as soon as I got the camera out.

DaddyMac would open the doors and call out, “come on in, Dad.” And nothing. The bird would just fly away. But close that door and he’d come right back. Tap, Tap, Tap on the window.

For months, he visited our house daily. Our kids even started picking up on it. They’d yell for us to get the camera ’cause the bird was back.

I could not tell you the last time I saw the yellow bird, or when he stopped visiting. Or why. But I miss him.

I am a spiritual cynic. But this yellow bird has opened up a place in my heart and mind that I didn’t know existed. I truly feel that our little yellow bird was, and is, my father-in-law’s spirit. He was watching over us as we transitioned into our new home. His home. He was there to oversee the rooms getting painted, the boxes getting delivered. He was there to watch our new 60″ TV in our family room. He was there to see the house filled with laughter of our children.

This post was inspired by todays Mama Kat’s Writers Workshop.

Dear Santa:

I’ve been working hard all year to make your nice list, but Life as a CEO isn’t always easy.

There’s the cooking, which I am not great at, and the cleaning, which I don’t like to do, and the ironing, which I never do. Sometimes I whine about needing an extra hour in the day, or an extra set of hands, or a clone. I yell at my kids, am quick to tell off cashiers (usually only when pms’ing) and tend to get grouchy with my husband. I’ve double booked appointments, neglected to mail birthday cards, and missed things I’ve planned to attend. I’ve skipped serving a veggie with dinner. I’ve offered my kids a second serving to fruit snacks so that I could check my email in peace and quiet. I’ve certainly chose the half-a$$ road due to exhaustion, and sometimes desperation, on more than one occasion.

I’m no Stepford wife, or Mrs. Clever, or Mr. Clean for that matter. But, my home is a happy one.

My husband loves pizza, and he doesn’t correct me when I say I cleaned the bathroom even though what I really meant was that I took a Lysol wipe to it. My children are healthy, thriving, respectful, loving children, and they never complain when I offer that extra serving of fruit snacks. My family and friends love me in spite of my often absentmindedness and hypochondriac tendencies. The groups that I volunteer endless hours for are flourishing with success. I’ve unselfishly donated my own goods and money to those in need. I am good to my neighbors, polite to strangers (you can not hold PMS against me!) and strive to take care of Mother Earth.

I don’t “need” anything per say. But, I could be the total package if you grant me the following Christmas Wish List:

(1) An IPhone—Since it’s so important that I manage all of my daily tasks as CEO, this little device would allow me to multi-task and provide me with no excuse to forget appointments or birthdays.(2) A dishwasher—If I had a dishwasher, I’d steer away from one-dish meals and explore the world of cooking.

(3) A new set of Pots and Pans—in exchange for that one dish from above.

(4) A new COACH Bag—since Miss Mac is now potty trained and I no longer need a super duper Diaper Bag, maybe one that has all sorts of interior compartments to hold my new IPhone so that I am never without

Facebook it?

(5) A Boob Job—don’t my boobs deserve to be “happy”, too.

Thanks, Santa. You’re the best!

To read other Writers Workshop posts, visit Mama Kat!

I’ve kept journals on and off throughout my life, but I’ve never held onto any of them along the way. Instead, I have a box of memories, from my teenage years mostly. I did rip out a few journal entries and put them in there, but as for the rest of the journal, I always felt it was safer in the trash!

The box has lots of letters–you know the kind we would pass in class or in the halls–and lots of pictures. I’ve saved certain movie stubs and concert tickets. I am even guilty of saving certain mixed tapes from the many boys I was head-over-heels “in love” with during that era of my life.

When I read MamaKat’s Writers Workshop prompt about our teenage diary entries, I immediately thought about this one note in particular that I DID NOT intend, or want, to keep. For some reason, my mom held onto this note. She thought it was charming and that I’d appreciate it one day. I thought–and still do on some level–that it was nauseating.

The note was from this boy named Alan. He was an odd ‘fella! I don’t normally call boys “fellas” but this kid dressed, looked, and acted like a ‘fella at the young age of 13. He was always gawking at me, always finding a reason to choose me for his team in gym class or to be his lab partner. He was very quiet, polite and studious. I don’t remember him participating in sports, or having have many friends. For some reason, I remember that he always brought the teacher exquisitely wrapped gifts for the holidays that you knew his “Momma” had her hand in. You know – that sorta boy.

Anyway, I remember walking to my desk one day and seeing a folded note on the floor with my name scribbled on it. I picked it up, not knowing what to expect, and read it. While I don’t have it in front of me, I can tell you that it went something like this:

My Dearest Chrissy:
I am a catalog freak. I love looking through them and reading them. I can’t get enough of them. But I love you more and I would give up catalogs if you would go out with me.
Yours Forever, Alan

I remember looking around to see if Alan was watching my reaction. I remember looking to make sure that no one saw the note–I didn’t want people to think that this self-proposed freak was my boyfriend. I mostly remember wanting to vomit. What the heck was a “catalog freak??” anyway! I remember running home and trying to burn the note–I guess my mom took it along the way.

And, you know what? 15+ years & one son later–I find that note “charming” in an innocent way.

Most 13 year old boys, even when I was 13, are more concerned about feeling girls up then reading magazines, catalogs none-the-less. And, boy did that ‘fella have guts??

I can only hope that Buckaroo will grow up to be a kind, polite and studious boy. And I am glad that the only thing he likes to do with catalogs is to cut them to shreds.

Swine Flu Thoughts…

Never-ending To-Do List Thoughts…

OCD Thoughts…

Right Here….what DaddyMac says as he points to a spot on his back that needs rubbing

Imagining what I want to do the next day…

Never gonna wear a two-piece again??!! thoughts…

Get me more milk Mommy…

Hot, no….cold….no, Hot…

Under the covers, no….outside the covers….no, just one leg out….

Zzzs….If I fall asleep right now, I’ll get (fill-in-as-I-watch-the-hours-go-by) hours of sleep…

But, the BIGGEST reason I can’t sleep at night is…….

Can you figure it out???

The clues are right there…..

Yup!

SNORING HUZ!!!!

Maybe the voices in my head will go away if I get me some damn ear plugs already!

Visit MaMa Kat over at Mama’s Losin’ It to read more Writers Workshop Posts!!

For today’s Writers Workshop, I chose Mama Kat’s prompt “pick a Halloween costume or moment you wish you had on tape”…..as soon as I read that prompt, I immediately thought about Halloween 2002…

One of our local radio stations had “Flashback Friday” back then, and I’d always listen to it on my way to work. I never called in to request a song, until the day I heard that anyone who called in would be entered into a drawing to win tickets to a special Halloween Bash at the radio station and the best dressed at the party would win tickets to see U2 in concert! I just had to win those tickets, so I called in and requested….“I Hate Everything About You” by Ugly Kid Joe (ah, memories of Powder Puff Football and High School come pouring back every time I think of that song!). The DJ loved my request so much that he immediately gave me tickets to come to the Bash on the spot!

I was so excited–hadn’t a clue what we’d dress as but I knew my Hubby (for some reason, I’ve decided to change his name to DaddyMac from here on out…) would come up with something stellar. We were so excited for the Bash–neither of us had ever been to anything like this before. We imagined loads of food, hundreds of people dressed in their finest, dancing, prizes and much more.

DaddyMac decided we’d dress as vikings. I bought loads of black fur and sewed us costumes. He completed his get-up with this very real viking helmet:

We pulled up to the studio to see maybe 5 cars in the parking lot and I remember thinking to myself, “are we just that excited that we are the first ones here?” We got our costumes set, and walked inside the building. There were lots of radio personnel all over the place–they were busy preparing for the Bash–and we were directed to a waiting area. Inside the waiting area were maybe 5 or 6 other people dressed in costume. All of whom were total losers. I am not trying to be mean, but seriously, they were losers. We started to wonder what we were in for.

Looking back, we should have known what we were in for when we were told we had to be at the “Bash” at 6am. I mean, who throws a Smashin’ Bash at 6am? DaddyMac called out of work that day and everything–we were totally siked, and determined, to win those U2 tickets!

The next 3 hours were the most boring ones of my life. There was a crazy psychic reader in one corner, one table of snacks in the other, and fake “made for radio” games like bobbing for apples which they seriously asked us to “make noises into the microphone then reach your hand in and pick your apple.” They had us standing on the side of the building on the highway reaching into a garbage can that didn’t even have apples in it! Oh, and as for all the dancing we’d be doing…there was one small bathroom sized room decked out with black lights where they had us “dance” in. At one point, they asked us to all line up and the “winners” of the U2 tickets would be announced. Clearly, it was in the bag. We were going to see U2.

Clearly I was wrong.

What. A. Total. Waste. Of. Time.

We packed our $hit up and ran for the door. Before we made it there, we were greeted by the radio host who apologized for the morning and gave us 2 tickets for the concert because we were “totally cool.”

Hey–at least we got the tickets! And that may be the one time someone ever called me cool.

At the risk of sounding like a crappy mom, I have a confession to make: I can’t stand taking my kids to the playground. It’s not something I wake up and say, “oh, it’s a beautiful day, what a great day for the park.” Here’s why:

* Moms are just spectators at the playground & we can’t even enjoy it. The moment you relax, close your eyes to take in a deep breath of fresh air and let the sun dance on your face, you open your eyes and realize you can’t “find” one of your kids and your heart skips a few beats. So, you spend the rest of your time hawking your children’s whereabouts trying to keep them both in your view while they run in opposite directions.

* Someone has always got to pee, or poop, or both, once if not twice during your visit. If your playground has a potty, it likely looks like a walking version of the swine flu. If not, then you’ll be forced to work your diaper changing magic on the seat of your car. Always fun.

* Someone always gets hurt. Be it a small scrape on the knee from running around like a mad man, or a whack in the head from walking in front of the swings. Tears are always shed.

* Other moms are constantly judging your parenting skills waiting for you to mess up in some way, shape or form so that they can claim the coveted “Best/Coolest Mom at the Playground” award.

* There is the inevitable “I wanna go home” whine-fest that your toddler will make at some point. You will then have to convince them to stay by getting all goofy and riding the pony spring rider in order to ward off the meltdown your 5 year old will definitely have if you unexpectedly announce that it’s time to go.

* Then, of course, it is time to go. And, even though you just spent an hour watching their every move, pushing them on the swings, clapping at them going down the slide a hundred times, giving them a snack, etc. they still have meltdowns and your “fun” day at the park quickly ends with a “get-in-this-car-right-now-or-else” moment.

Despite how I really feel, the pictures below are why I give in and take my kids to the park often – Motherhood is really all about them anyway!

This post is being submitted for MamaKat’s Writers Workshop and for Wordful Wednesday over at 7 Clown Circus!