Thursday, December 11, 2008

Anyone who knows me knows that I lean farther towards the anxious side of the scale than to anything resembling laid back. Having said that , I often find myself in a panic over non-panic worthy events. Take for example, a surprise phone call from a friend telling me she is dropping by to give me a I sit back and think - "well, how nice, I can't wait to see her?" Ahhh, au contraire, mon frere, instead I reel in the thoughts of how I must vacuum NOW and then clean the bathroom, and get the dishes put away, and break out some smelly candle, and how the laundry room is a mess (even though she will never even make it in the front door). So call it OCD, call it what you want, I call it everyday life.

Do you ever have an insane mom thought and guiltily stash it away in your memory banks as one of those "I must be crazy, NO ONE thinks like this" things? No? Okay, just me then. So bear with me while I share one of those golden nuggets of insanity.

The other day, my son (aka the-good-sleeper) slept waaaaay past his normal wakeup time. This would not be especially unusual except for the fact that my daughter (the girl-who-is-incapable-of-being-quiet) was being especially disruptive, stomping around and slamming doors. So do I just pass off this moment as one of those "things that make you go hmmm" times? OH NO! Instead I have gory visions of how my little boy must have breathed his last in his sleep and is now lying in his bed, long gone, waiting for me to find him. Having said that, do I now rush up to be sure he is actually alive? OH NO! I sit and worry about it...agonizing about it, actually. No sooner do the tears begin to well up and suddenly I hear the thump-thump-thumping of his early morning wall-kicking....and I feel foolish all over again.

SO I have this little gem stored waaaay in the back of my memory attic, gathering guilt and self-flagellation like thick dust, when a fellow mom tells me about bursting into her sons' room because he overslept by 20 minutes. She told me about how she sat on the floor, eyes even with the height of his chest, to see if it was rising and falling as it should. I think at that moment I could actually hear a praise chorus going off in my head - AT LEAST I'M NO CRAZIER THAN HER! And as long as there is one co-crazy on this planet, I guess I am okay.

Yes, you read that right. My fish (plural) are sad. Okay, maybe they are not really sad, but they sure seem sad. Yes, I know how completely silly this sounds - but consider the evidence:
1. They randomly float on their sides - and no, they are not dead, cause I keep tapping their bowls and they start swimming again - unless of course they are zombie fish (wow that opens up a whole new arena of possible explanations for their behaviour!)
2. 3 of the 4 have already attempted suicide by either jumping out of their bowl or jumping out of the net while I am changing their water.
3. They just don't seem as peppy as they used to be.
You may be asking, 'Are fish ever peppy?' Maybe I am delusional in thinking that they were ever "happier" than they are now. Do fish even have feelings? Are they capable of rational thought? I mean they swim among their own poop - and that can't be good for any one's emotional state...uh...yeah, right. They are fish after all. Maybe I should stop worry about this stuff. They are in fact carnival fish. As in, I won them at a carnival. Maybe they miss their carnie friends. Okay, clearly I should stop worrying about this.

My mother in law has the worlds' greatest mirror. It is at the end of a hall that you must walk down to get anywhere in their house. The reason this mirror has obtained such high status in my mirror-status books? Because it is a skinny mirror - no matter what kind of bloated-PMS-bad-body-day you are having, you look fabulous in this mirror. I think ALL mirrors should take a lesson from this mirror. Like the mirror in my bedroom for example - which is a fat mirror. Every time I walk past it, it is like being in a fun house for crying out loud!! Not so good for the psyche.
I think if department stores and other clothing establishments were smart, they would harness the technology that created my mother in law's skinny mirror, and mount them in the change rooms. Also, please, department store owners, invest in more flattering lighting in there - it amazes me that people EVER buy stuff they have tried on. Whenever I dare to bare it enough to try something on, I am shocked and repelled at the view....florescent lighting does nothing to flatter...

On that note, I went shopping today for a new Christmas outfit for hubby's Christmas Party this weekend. I should also mention that I am a frugal shopper, which is a nice way of saying that I am cheap. Yes, I would love to wear an outfit that cost 600$ - as long as it wasn't MY $600 that paid for it.
Shopping on a budget seriously limits ones options, though. I walked right past all these boutique-y stores with beautiful figure flattering outfits in the windows (and no doubt skinny mirrors in the change rooms) and headed right to the polyester and rayon shacks that I could afford. Dress after dress seemed too trampy, too shiny, too lowcut...until I found THE ONE. And imagine my glee at finding it on the clearance rack. However, looking at the tag I was dismayed that it was a size smaller than I had ever worn before. So I nearly put it back on the rack and trudged off to the next synthetic-fabric-bargain-bin store. But before leaving, I thought - well I will just try on the jacket and see - if that doesn't fit then it is a definite no. And lo and fits perfectly. Off I go to the fitting room, dress in one hand, pushing a stroller laden with winter coats and cars and toys and purses - everything BUT its intended purpose, my son, who had taken up residence 15 feet away on the floor.
I coax him to the "hall of bad mirrors" , trying to explain that though it looks like "potties", I am sure they would not like if you used it to relieve yourself.
Okay, back to the dress. I slowly try it on, having convinced myself that it will never fit, and gently pull on the zipper. and it zips. All the way up. And I am shocked. SO I stand there, staring at myself in the mirror. There is a huge disconnect between the size on the tag and the size I see before me. What is it that makes women (particularly me) so loathe their bodies? Why are we (me) so hard on ourselves? I think I have it in my head that once I reach a certain size or a certain number on the scale, then I will be satisfied - but I also know that if it is not the number on the scale it will be something else. I truly want to be happy that I have found a dress that fits! So there is my task for this weekend - strut my stuff (in a demure and non-trashy way, of course) in a dress that I never thought I would fit into, much less pay $26 for!

SO there you have it folks - rambling I promised, and rambling you got.
I am off to tend to the suicidal betas now...maybe some shrimp meal will coax them awy from the edge of the bowl....

I may be a mother, but I am Not Your Average Mom

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