Retraction

I had to take down the last post because I came home to a beautifully cleaned house. See I told ya he reads my blog. It made me feel loved and understood.

It's his party and I'll cry if I want to.

I feel sorry for my kids today.

I feel bad that they don't have a mother who can plan birthday parties months in advance complete with a huge guest list, ponies, clowns..scratch the scary clowns..., but GAH!!

Conner's birthday is in three days and ask me what I have done in honor of the baby that I literally STOOD ON MY HEAD to have.

Nothing, zilcho, nadda, zero.

I don't have the cake ordered. I didn't send out invitations. I thought, "meh, I'll get to it."

That was a month ago and I simply never got to it.

Now I am all shitty and depressed that my baby won't have a good party Saturday and he will hate me and his dad will be his new favorite person when all he is going to do it SHOW UP!

And now I am all mad at Eric and he is not here to defend himself.

The reality is. Our family is well aware of his special day.

The ones that matter in his life will show up and don a party hat and watch him tear the shit out of his cake.

Then we will have a great dinner and laugh as a mess is made of the freshly cleaned dining room. And it will be ok.

It will be O-KIZ-AY. (Sorry, I have been watching a bunch of Madagascar)

He is here. He is healthy.

We will celebrate his first year of life Saturday with all our hearts.

I feel better now.

Grace and patience

My life is changing.

I didn't start this change. I am not even sure how it happened.

I am a new person.

I feel this urgency churning in my soul.

Something is happening in my life and I finally feel receptive for the plans laid out for me.

I am embracing my future.

I am loving my God.

Ok, I feel strange with that last statement.

I grew up in church.

Everyone around me seemed to get God. Seemed to hear him when he spoke. They has things figured out. Or so it seemed.

I pretended. I got very good at acting and I am sure I had some sort of relationship with Christ, but I wasn't a very good one. I knew what I was supposed to do and say to blend in with everyone else. I knew how to look "spiritual". But it was never me.
Finally when I just couldn't seem to find truth or make sense out of everyone elses truth, I gave up. I just couldn't live like them. It was too hard not to sin. As hard as I tried for perfection I just couldn't get there and I was tired.


For 10 years I pretended not to care. For a decade I have live the way I wanted. Done what was best for me. I didn't need God and he didn't need me. There were plenty of other people to do his will and I was happy to go my own way.

But he does need me!

He has my purpose.

I am his.

UHHGGGG. This sounds so cliche.

It is wonderful and crazy at the same time.

Everywhere I go I want to say, "Hey, Guess what"?

"I am tight with God again"

And then I feel all weird and like I can't go around yelling that. But I want to. Becuase

"Hey"

"Jesus is my homie"

OOH OOH AHH AHH

How is my half-assed job hunt going?

Well, let's see. I was told at an informal interview that a monkey could do my current job. But I was also told they probably couldn't afford me.

?

???

So, I am so great at doing so little, that I am worth a butt load.

That is the only positive spin I can put on it.

It's kinda funny actually.

I would be laughing if it were not so sad.

Gestapo? Me?

Today, I am thinking about the defining roles that Eric and I carry in our house.

He is the person that takes care of all the breaks, leaks, grass mowin, animal feeding, tire kicking, and big furniture moving. You know all the big male stuff that little ole' me can't handle.

I do the women's work. I know its sexist but my dad calls it that. Eric insinuates it. E is already jumping on the bandwagon with, "Hey Mom, what's for dinner?" and "I need clean socks!" Even the baby totally knows who to turn to when tummy is empty or boo boos need to be kissed. I do what I can to keep the house somewhat presentable. I am no Martha Stewart, but I am what they were given and I think they are satisfied for the most part.

And you know what? I totally love it. Sure, I may act offended sometimes when I come home and they are laying across the bar barely able to lift their limp, malnourished bodies because between the two of them (Conner is still totally innocent here) they can't figure out that a (made by them) pb&j will totally take that hunger pain away until mom can get in here and make dinner.

The real job I am questioning, is the one of the financial planner.

The money distributor.

The bill payer.

The financial. decision. maker.

I don't wanna do that anymore.

I have always been the one to pay the bills, calculate the budget and keep things rockin along.

We have had to make some drastic cuts these last couple of months and since I handle the money, I kinda feel like I am the bad guy handing out the meager allowances and cheep stipends for our weekly needs.

Eric refuses to keep up with the balance of the checkbook which makes ME have to tell him what is in there when he wants to make a purchase.

I kinda hate it.

We work so very hard and I just don't wanna be the doom and gloom of spend thrift all the time.

Sometimes I want HIM to give me my allowance and let me skip off freely while he handles the cable bill. HMMPH

In the face.

"Wow, your pregnant!"

I stared at Eric in the mirror as I was getting ready for work. "What makes you think that?"

"It's the same way I could tell last time", he crowed.

I start visually checking all my fatty deposits, ie: boobs, butt, tummy.

"No, you don't look fat." "I can just tell it in your face."

I just stared at him (silently thinking about punch him in the face.

Eric in sitting on the merry go round, calling for me to join him.

There are so many reasons not to.

Maybe the decision has already been made.