ADULTING

Remember when we were kids and we couldn’t wait for that call that school was closed due to snow!  We waited with anticipation and held off on our homework as long as possible, said prayers crossed our fingers and wished on every star.  When you come from the Midwest, getting a snow day is rare.  It damn near has to be over the roof of your house before they would call a day off.  Things have changed a lot since then.  Now, we have to be self aware of every danger and minor incident that could conceivably happen and if there’s a 2% chance you die of an icicle hanging off the gutter, they shut it down.  Ahh the good ole days.  My kids will never know the pleasure of going to the JC Penny parking lot on a snowy Friday night and doing donuts and then hearing that one yell…HEY MAN I bet my Bronco can climb that snow mountain up the light pole.  COOL!!  It’s amazing we’re all still alive.  It’s probably all the gluten we had.  And Jack Daniels.

But then we grow up.  And we don’t get summer breaks anymore or holidays and mom doesn’t come eat lunch with me or send me with a note to my boss when I have the sniffles.  Nope, we have to do what is called “adulting” now.   It used to be called being a grown up, but the Millennials are never happy with anything prior to 2005, ever, so we’re adulting now.  Yay ADULTING!   I’ve had 2 sick days this week.   My husband actually offered to call in for me.  That was sweet, not sure the boss would have cared or found that amusing, but it was sweet nonetheless.  And they say chivalry is dead?!   I used to love going into the office.  I loved the dressing up, I loved our clients, and I loved the people.  I’m finding that well, I was obviously stupid.  Because there’s nothing remotely fun about people anymore.  I’ve found that just the mere sound of their whiney “give me more for nothing” attitudes makes me want to throw my very expensive Manolo Mary Janes at their heads.  Why isn’t my life as glamorous as Carrie Bradshaw’s??? I mean, I dress way better than her anyways and yet I sit an stare at a computer all day and wish my clients would fall out of a 20-story building.  I’m pretty sure I need therapy for that.  From what I hear, Adulting means I can get Xanax and wine in a coffee mug at my request!  Ok, so there’s one benefit of Adulting.

Sick days are nowhere near as fun when we’re Adulting as it was during our carefree days.  I still had to do laundry.  I can’t watch old reruns of Miami Vice in dirty clothes.   My dog requires me to feed her and still get up and let her in and out.  Then I start thinking, what is everyone going to want to eat for supper, should I cook since I’m home?  Wait, it’s a sick day I’m not supposed to cook.    Peanut butter cheese crackers count as a meal right?  Then I start to realize that I really hate Dr. Phil.   He likes to remind us that it’s not his 1^st rodeo while making me feel like it’s my fault that his guests are screwed up beyond anyone’s control.  Why am I feeling guilty?   I’m also having a very in-depth conversation with Phil and his guests as though anything I said really matters or more importantly they can “hear me”.    I also spend no less than 2 hours on his message boards in a back and forth with Jane in Cleveland because I need her to know that once a cheater always a cheater and Sam is just going to continue to sleep with her Sister and that baby she’s caring will bring her years of pain and agony reminding her of those times Sam shared with Jane.   I’m already verclemped again.  I do enjoy Robin, she is very stylish in her designer sweaters and big skirts.  But I wish she would stop with teeth whitening, its starting to just get, well, creepy.  

Adulting means I’m supposed to support my kids too.  As in, I’m supposed to go to work 40+ hours a week, be a kick ass Paralegal and then make sure they are enrolled in no less than 2 extra curricular activities a piece and provide snacks for the activities because some one… a Millennial no doubt, decided that kids need “healthy snacks” at every event and practice.  I sent cheetos and Gatorade.  I’m the cool mom.   At these events you will come across the other moms.  I thank the good Lord above that I have such a wonderful husband who took over the soccer mom duties for the last couple of years for me.  He has been phenomenal at this.   Because after one day of cheer season with these women and I made the 1^st coach cry and quit.  What can I say I have a gift.  But seriously, if your main issue with parents is “I don’t like to talk to people” you may have picked the wrong activity to participate in as a Coach.  I forget we all have feelings while we’re adulting.  

I’m also supposed to make sure that the house is well put together and the kids have clean clothes.  I decided that’s what the 13 year old was for.  Genius really, teach him life skills, get an early start on Adulting for the young lad.  One day he’ll thank me.   You also have to show up at school for lunches and parent teacher conferences.  This is where you find out if your kid is going to make it in college one day or if you need to make sure the basement is big enough for him and his life long collection of commemorative Dr. Who collectibles and Yughi Oh cards.   I’m not gonna lie, this terrifies me.  Let’s just hope that the light bulb goes off and the girlfriend he gets pregnant in 12^th grade comes from a wealthy family and is one of the those new age parents who believes in helicopter parenting, and adopts him.   When Adulting we should always try to find the silver lining. 

This week I’m really going to try and dig deep and hope that I can find my inner peace and see the world with new eyes.  A kinder gentler Deana Rae if you will.   Maybe the Yoga will help.  Maybe I wont want to tell my clients that they wouldn’t need a lawyer if they could just dig deep and find some act right and not think smoking crack and hanging off a pole would get their kids back??  I’ll grab a $5 cup of Starbucks and read the Nordstrom Spring Line and imagine myself being the bigger person.  Wearing Stuart Weitzman.  Summer is coming, Adulting means summer drinks by the pool.  Maybe Adulting isn’t so bad.

Girls, Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice

When you have a daughter and look into those beautiful blue eyes you know that there are certain milestones you will hit along the way.  You get to hear her say Mama for the first time, she learns to walk, you buy the first bow 5 times the size of her head that’s been bedazzled and glittered so bright it can be seen in Russia from Sarah Palin’s front porch!   Everything that little precious wonder does and says is probably the smartest and most wittiest things you will ever hear and start thinking to yourself its time to start filling out those apps to MIT or daddy’s favorite, the Air Force Academy for jet pilot training.  

They start school and off they go with their backpack that has her name perfectly hand stitched on the front pocket and the perfect zipper accessory of Minnie Ears hanging off the front.  All while matching the perfect 1^st day of school outfit with the perfect backpack and making sure daddy is ok and no one is seeing the mountain of tears and dreams he’s shedding hiding in the garage caressing his Harley and Baby Girl’s leaf blanket.   Sometimes grown men cry over their baby girls.   You get used to this anomaly, and just don’t look in their direction and discreetly hand them a beer and go about your business, nothing to see here.  I married a man who was hard like woodpecker lips and then I became the life pod for a baby girl.  The day the doctor told us it was a girl and we saw the picture of her sucking her thumb and blowing little bubbles in the womb he hasn’t stopped crying.  We’ve just learned how to let him have his moment and then of course bring it up again during the holidays around the entire family.  It’s a Fun Fest for all. 

Once they get to school they start making friends.   Unless you’re one of the lucky kids who grow up as an Army Brat.  That’s a whole new level of friend making that the civies don’t go through.  It’s truly a different world and not the kind Lisa Bonet was dealing with at Hillman College.  In regular civilian world when you grow up in a small town that’s only life support is who works at the GM Plant and who works at the Ford plant your friends depend on which factory daddy works at and oh by the way what’s his job.  Remember when life was so simpler and divided by class warfare?   If you’re an Army brat it’s not even the kids, it’s the parents.  It breaks down to 3 different class warfare sections…Enlisted, Officer, and we don’t know what you are? Not really a “real” Officer definitely not Enlisted-Warrant Officers.  Just to clear this up, Warrants are still Officers.   They’re just cooler than the rest.  (Don’t tell anyone I said that last part, I’ve been reminded on many different occasions how us officer wives are pretty snobby)

This becomes very important when Baby Girl starts getting invited to the 315 birthdays she’s going to be invited to living on a military base.  Its been said that Army wives like to have litters cause them suckers are free.  Not saying I said it, it’s just that its been said.   So when you are invited to one of these great character themed parties you have to decide the gift.  When everyone knows everyone’s rank the pressure is really on.   Its one of the few jobs in the country where all your counterparts know exactly what your take home pay is and remind you on a daily basis where you sit on the scale.  Your present will reflect this or you get the look of shame.   He’s an officer with 3 vehicles and a Harley Davidson and I know that Barbie was only $5 from Big Lots you cheap ass!!    Oh believe me, I’ve felt the judgment.    And if you’re one of the rare birds in the military where your spouse also works, you were just moved up on the ladder of snooty mcsnootness and you better leave that shit at home and remember who you’re dealing with.  Don’t no one need some mom showing up wearing anything other than the Dependaspouse uniform of yoga pants, husband’s unit tee shirt and a box of Twinkies. 

After the birthday parties and the trips to the neighborhood parks they make their BFFs.   And then they come to you for the ever dreaded and popular sleepover.  Its when the outsiders enter your home and it goes from a peaceful place of refuge to the ‘”HOLY SHIT IM AWAY FROM MY MOM AND GOING TO GO BAT SHIT CRAZY AT YOUR HOUSE” party.   The only thing missing from one of these delightful milestone events is a kid walking out of the kitchen with a bag of Cheetos and a bottle of Jager rolling a blunt.   And by the end of one of these you’ll be begging for that Jager and Blunt.    You learn a lot about how your parenting is completely different from the entire rest of the world.   Take child beatings.   You can beat your own, well; you can strongly threaten to beat your own, as long as you don’t yell too loud so as not to hurt the children’s feelings.  Where as with the outsider that has batted her pretty eyes and con’d you into thinking she’s one of the good ones shows up.   You can’t really beat the neighbor’s child.   Apparently there’s some law against that.  And believe me, at 7 years old, they know this.   They know they have the upper hand and there’s nothing you or your 3^rd glass of Moscato can do about that.

How do 2 little girls sound like wild buffalo running up there?  How do they get that much noise out of weighing 40 lbs?  And then nothing questions your abilities and choices to keep your kids alive like when you try to feed the tiny humans, especially the ones that aren’t yours.  This is when truths are told.   You learn a lot about people after you try to feed their kids.     I’ve learned that everything my mother ever did to keep me alive is all wrong and that I’m not sure how I made it to the ripe old age of 39 drinking Coca-Cola for breakfast and eating pancakes with peanut butter and syrup every day for 12 years of my academic life.   But here I am kicking.     My mom rocks!   I think there are 2 types of parents today.  Granola heads and Fuck it, as long you’re fed and alive I’ve done my job!    You probably guessed where I am on this sliding scale.   Let me just say this from my Kiehl’s soapbox, parents, if you want to eat the organic Kale smoothie for every meal that’s awesome, but if you send little Sally to my house, you should know, there will be pizza made from real yeast and 5 different greasy cheeses and Sprite.  Because they’re kids and kids need to be real kids before they’re pushed into the world of hurt and judgment.   Maybe just once we remember what it was like to be a kid.  Millennials and their new age thinking……sheeesh! 

After the guilt meals and snacks you’re all settled in for the night and all is going well and then you hear it.  Its the universal sound heard around the world that only dolphins can truly hear…the muffled sounds of baby girl cries.   BABY GIRL WONT LET ME HAVE THE REMOTE TO WATCH WHAT I WANT TO WATCH ON TV AND I WANT TO WATCH SPONGEBOB!!!!  You know it’s coming, you should brace yourselves.  There is and always will be at least one breakdown of hurt feelings and lost friendships for about an hour then all is forgiven.  It’s usually after my 2^nd Bottle of Moscato and I threatened to unplug the TV all together and turn the lights out for bedtime.  Lets see its 6pm, they’ve been playing for an hour and we lived through the gluten filled supper, sounds about right to me.   It’s amazing how they become instant BBFs again.   If only us grown-ups could take a lesson in problem solving resolutions.  These are the rare times it would be great to be a man.  To be able to tune it all out and not care and just throw a bag of Ruffles in the room and go to bed.   I admire men, sometimes.  

The Fabulous Life of Deana Rae: Namaste!

The Fabulous Life of Deana Rae: Namaste!: Happy New Friends!   I’m back!   After a little Holiday break and soul searching I’ve found my way back to land of blogs.   For a min...

Namaste!

Happy New Friends!  I’m back!  After a little Holiday break and soul searching I’ve found my way back to land of blogs.  For a minute there I thought I had lost my way a little bit, but I’ve kind of found a renewed spirit as of lately.  I decided this was the year I was going to rededicate myself to my Husband, as we become best friends again.   I want to take more time to enjoy the little things with my kids that I had taken for granted when I was a stay at home mom.  And really most of all, I just wanted to be “happy” again.  I think we all fall into that trap at some point where no matter what we do nothing makes us happy.   I fell deep in the dark twisty place.

So I had one New Year’s Resolution, make time and effort to be happier and healthier.  Well, I managed to stay away from cheese for about 3 days and then I dove off that bandwagon with a glass of wine and a vat of nacho cheese!!!  So I turned to Yoga.   Yoga means I’m getting healthier spiritually, mentally and physically.   I invited my husband to join with me.  Now we can knock off be closer, make time for just us, fall in love all over again…all that Dr. Phil jazz.

I’m officially 3 classes into the Yoga and I have to admit, it’s not at all what I thought this was going to be.   You should know that Jesse (the husband) calls me Doomsday.  I might be slightly negative from time to time, see the glass empty, dirty and another something I’m going to have to wash kind of girl.  So for someone like me to walk into the world of hippie oneness love is a little difficult.  And then he tells me, there will be touching.  Wait, what??? 

I have to say that our first 2 classes were actually quite pleasant.  I wasn’t twisted into a pretzel, I didn’t have to put my leg over my head and there was no downward dog?  I did have to perch like a cat though, and then I started stressing about my yoga pants and whether or not the guy behind me was judging.   What if he could “see something”??  That was a little hard to get out of mind.   And in case you’ve never been to Yoga, you clear your mind a lot.  Which is also hard for someone like me whose mind is on A.D.D. overload 100% of the time.  While everyone is taking his or her deep breaths and listening to the silence I’m over here thinking where are we going to eat when this is done? 

Tonight was our 3^rd night, restorative Yoga.  This is where you go and pay someone to let you take 15-minute naps for an hour on your mom’s blankets she bought in Cherokee from the little 100-year-old Indian lady.   It’s relaxing.  Until your normal teacher isn’t there and you have someone who you cant even pronounce their name fill in.  All comfort leaves my friend!   Now you should know, there are a couple of regulars we’ve come to notice.  And one of them, he doesn’t like his routine to be messed up.  He knows where he wants his mat and where he wants YOU!

We got stuck by him tonight.  He’s a heavy breather.  As in deep breaths in…and then a big moan of ARRRHHHH on the way out.   It’s hard to clear your mind when there’s loud snoring but I try.   The instructor decides we should reflect on Martin Luther King and find a soft place in our hearts and forgive.  Forgive our enemies.  Awesome, I just said less than 24 hours ago that I wanted to stab my true enemy of enemies in the back of the head with a serving fork.  This is going to be hard.  So as I sit there thinking about forgiveness I’m getting mad because my happy place has now been replaced of thoughts of Satan’s spawn.    This is the exact opposite of soft heart and forgiveness.  I try to think of anything that will relieve these feelings of premeditated murder…and then my eye catches something as I’m stretching and looking through my legs (which by the way I haven’t done since high school, YAY ME!).   Old man, heavy breather….has 6 toes on each foot.  6 MF’n TOES!  That’s it, feelings and now toes.  I hate toes.  HATE, me some toes and feet.  I’m trying not to hyperventilate but holy Mother of Deformities.  And not just 6 toes, but there a huge gap in between that separate 3 and 3 and the that extra toe in the middle is not really a real toe, its like a lil stub.  I’m DYING!  Literally feel the breath being pulled from my body.   I roll over and look at Jesse, and try to express my anxiety over the mutated feet behind me and he pretty much ignores me and goes back to his soft heart and happy place.  

I decided I needed to pull myself together and think of shiny things.  For the love of Coco Chanel why can’t I think of anything???  Finally the instructor pulls us back to our mats and we do a little chant and its over for the night.   I couldn’t even make eye contact because he would know, judging!   After we get back to the car and settle in to go eat, because you cant have a date without food, Jesse looks over at me with his pretty blue eyes and says:  “I tried to find forgiveness for the terrorists, but I couldn’t, I still hate the terrorists and want to kill them”.      And then I smiled.

Doomsday Deana has found that I really like Yoga.  When I leave I have these really strange feelings, I think most people call them happiness but seeing as I’m a pretty negative person unless I’m standing in a Louis Vuitton store draped in goodness I was slightly confused on what I was feeling.   I kinda liked it.  I hope this is something Jesse and me will continue to do.  I’m feeding my stony black heart and soul.   Now, if I could just find a way to make one date night to Tiffany & Co. I’d be on top of the world.