Archive for the ‘grrr face’ Tag
June 29 2010 ·
13 CommentsPosted in:
Daily · Tags:
grrr face,
life,
this sucks I hate shopping. Not all of it, mind you. I like perusing shoes or finds for the kids and house. When it comes to clothes shopping for myself, however, I’d rather stab myself in the thigh with a fork.
It wasn’t always like this. I was actually in the best body shape I had ever been in before I gained 50 dogged pounds with my last pregnancy. I was wearing size 6 jeans. I’m not saying what size I am now, but I laugh in the face of my former size 6. The thing is, the majority of my extra weight is located across my middle. It’s not proportioned whatsoever. Finding pants that fit right is about impossible and aggravating. What slides past my knees won’t button around my waist. What does button is like a potato sack everywhere else.
My mom wanted to take me shopping for my birthday, though. That’s how horrendous my wardrobe had become, apparently. So I had to bite the bullet. Because what says happy birthday better than a day of wallowing depression.
I skimmed through racks. I fondled fabric. I looked at sizes. I felt defeated.
We spent 2 hours walking around a single store and I almost came away with nothing. I wanted to quit. I wanted to cry.
I finally found a few things, but I had to wander into the plus-size department to do it. Which leads me to think if my mom wants to take me shopping for clothes while I’m still carrying this extra weight (can I still blame the baby? no?), I’ll tell her to buy me a fork to stab myself with instead.
February 22 2010 ·
8 CommentsPosted in:
Daily · Tags:
grrr face,
life “We’re going somewhere this weekend, right?” I said with eyebrows raised. It wasn’t so much a question as a demand.
“Where do you want to go?”
“I don’t care, just OUT OF THIS HOUSE.”
This was an exchange Saturday morning. We were all finally on the verge of well. After having spent the better part of 2 weeks stuck inside with the sick and snot and used tissues, I was ready for fresh air and a reason to wear something other than stale pajamas. I’m sure the kids were, too. I really didn’t care what or where, we just needed to go. Cabin fever would be an understatement.
Not even a few hours later, however, Abby came down with a fever of 102.
Whoever is up there, playing the pranks, this isn’t funny. Over two weeks now, of ear infections and colds and almost pneumonia and barking coughs and a runny nose and breathing through one’s mouth and a congested, stuffed up head and administering medicine. Now, a fever. Because, you know, something was missing. Which means in lieu of going out, I watched Olympic curling and had to deal with a pitiful, unhappy toddler.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
There’s always next weekend, right?
I probably just jinxed it.
January 15 2010 ·
8 CommentsPosted in:
Me Myself · Tags:
Buzz,
grrr face,
motherhood 30 is the new 15, apparently. At least as far as acne is concerned. In fact, I think there are more pimples covering my face right now than ever before in my life. I’m not sure if this is just an age thing, or something else I can blame as an after effect of growing 3 children within 7 years. I mean, I blame everything else on pregnancy, might as well blame this, too. A constant, 50 pound heavier beer gut: PREGNANCY! Crazy rollercoaster moodswings: PREGNANCY! Weird things happening to my hair: PREGNANCY! Mt. Vesuvius-size zits: PREGNANCY! Stubbed toe: PREGNANCY! I know I haven’t been pregnant for almost 18 months, but still: PREGNANCY!
I even have zits on my neck, for crying out loud.
The smattering on my face are another story, but unless I wear a turtleneck 24/7 the protruding beast taking over my neck is tougher to cover up. Buzz, ever the kind soul, noticed this at its first sign of bright red eruption.
“Boo-boo!”, he exclaimed, brow furrowed, pointing even for good measure.
“No, not a boo-boo.”, I sighed in self-conscious reassurance.
He didn’t want to take no for an answer, though, and kept on. “Boo-boo! Boo-boo! Boo-boo!” Really, kid. It was like a taunt at this point. It’s not good for one’s already fragile self-confidence to feel like they’re being judged by a little boy who picks his nose.
“No, Buzz, not a boo-boo. It’s a pimple. You’ll learn all about them in about 10 years, OK?” Then, if you’re anything like me, you’ll wonder what the hell is going on when they show up in force another 17 years after that. But thank you very much for noticing.
December 14 2009 ·
3 CommentsPosted in:
Daily · Tags:
Christmas,
grrr face,
life The last time we tried to visit Santa, it didn’t go so well. It was 2 years ago. Even though we were able to wave hello from a considerable distance, Buzz was too young to comprehend what was going on and Jedi would have nothing more to do with him.
This year, we thought we’d try again. Jedi is a lot more outgoing now and Buzz has a stronger grasp of the concept. Of course, Abby would think it’s nothing more than a white beard in a red suit, but 2 out of 3 isn’t bad odds.
In fact, “Santa” even sent text messages meant for Jedi. Saying, in part, how he was thrilled to meet him. Oh, and to stop picking his nose. That Santa, he’s always watching.
Buzz was just excited.
We make it to the mall and walk around aimlessly for awhile. We try to find a double stroller to rent, but none are available. That should have been our first clue as to how the day would end. We go up and down the escalator, then the elevator, because this is like a cheap carnival ride to the kids. Finally, we wind our way to Santa.
We stop and gawk and point. Buzz’s eyes are the size of saucers. Jedi is practically bouncing. We take our place at the end of a relatively gentle line and prepare to wait. That’s when the man ahead of us whispers to J. Because this is our luck, Santa is about to go on break after their turn. For an hour. OF COURSE.
Well, screw you, too, Santa.
Instead, we drove around again in search of Christmas light displays. It wasn’t Santa up close and personal, but we saw a few of the inflatable kind. At least they don’t crush the spirits of little boys by going on break right before their turn.
November 17 2009 ·
4 CommentsPosted in:
Daily · Tags:
Buzz,
grrr face,
life Oh, balloons. The timeless symbol of childhood whimsy. Carefree, floating in air. We have a love/hate relationship, don’t we?
love: my kids’ abundant smiles when they walk into a room full of you.
hate: the snotty tears I have to deal with at bedtime when they must leave you.
love: a festive, helium inflated bundle of birthday fun.
hate: your sad, deflated remnants in every blasted corner of my house.
Maybe I’ve grown cynical in my old age, but you’re not what you used to be. See, it’s my son. He cried and cried and cried because of you. When he was supposed to be in bed, asleep. Anything that messes with my kids’ bedtime is no friend of mine. Me and you, balloons, we need to have a few words.
I know, it’s Buzz. I can’t blame you entirely. It also didn’t help that my husband picked the absolute worst time to begin the tragic act of popping a few of your multi-colored diminished brethren. But that night at bedtime, you should have seen my son’s face. It was like we shot his puppy.
The next morning, Buzz’s face returned a smile again when he noticed the rest of you were all still here. No, my husband couldn’t do what he was supposed to do and discard of you while my son was sleeping. So now, I have to deal with you all over my floor, in every step I take, for yet another day. You’re everywhere, balloons. It’s like you’re mocking me.
So I’ll deal with you for another day. Do you hear me, balloons? Just one more. Enjoy yourself while you can, because tonight we’re done. Kaput. Over and out. Until the next birthday, anyway.
