Jesus has thunder in his hands

That's what Bruce said today when we informed him that the loud noise coming from the sky was not huge trucks but thunder.

So I gave him the most scientific explanation I could think of. And he just kind of stared at me like " WTF, lady?"t us. Ah.

OK, I can do a better job at giving him the facts. But I guess I was just a bit flustered at hearing such nonsense. Even he Bible doesn't say that.

Pffft...
And then he asked me is Jesus was bad because he threw thunder at us. Aaaah. I love when the gears in his head click like that. Not saying Jesus is bad (or good... or existent), but hearing a child's logic in action is one of my favorite things.

In other news, L-guy is walking and even talking some. He likes to dance quite a bit, minds his p's and q's, and just goofs off tons.

Anyway, that's what we're up to 'round here.

Focus Pocus

I lack focus. I am like a fish drawn to shiny things. And there are lots of shiny things all over the place.

It pains me to admit this. Because I can be very focused. When I have the drive. If the drive comes around. But lately that drive has turned into a stall.

I am forever in my parking spot watching everyone pull out of the parking lot and drive away having a merry ol' time. And I'm just sitting there, with my kids whining in the back seat. What do I want to do? I'm not sure.

In the short term, I would like to do my laundry. In the long term?

Not a clue. There are so many little things that need to be done that thinking about the long term sometimes seems a gargantuan task.

What do I want to do? I want to do a lot of things, really. I would like to train myself as a vegan chef. I would like to really learn yoga, maybe teach someday. I would like to work in advertising; in an office, with coffee every morning and a commute. Heck, maybe even a TPS report here and there.

But what do I really want to set my sights on? I realize that as much as I love my children and being a mom I have other endeavors that I would like to take on. I don't just want to be a mom. I hate going to parties and after everyone has had a word or two about what they do and eyes are on me I'm all like "I stay home with my kids." Everyone's eyes either reflect pity or you can tell that the bit of interest that was once there vanished so quickly it was almost a little flash of nothing. Was it even there? Who knows, it left so fast. There's almost a bit of condescension, like "aawww, how cute. ok let's talk to the real adults now."

And I want to say: "Hey hey hey, now hold on there. Just because I'm a mom doesn't mean I don't have things to say! I have plenty to say. And even if some days I don't even leave the house, I still read and I like to socialize. Don't you take that away from me."

But I can kind of see what the mean, too. I think what we stay-home-moms do is one of the hardest jobs ever. We are expected to do so many things and without pay, vacation, bonuses and we have to LOVE it. What other job (not volunteering) requires that you give your heart and soul and blatantly denies you any sort of compensation aaaaand you're contractually obligated to smile through the tears? That sounds like a lawsuit waiting to happen, no? That kinda sounds like slavery.

And even with that, what do we do? Our jobs don't get immediate results. I can't tell my kids one day, "you know, we say please and thank you and you're welcome" and by the next day they're politeness machines. Whoa! Talk about motivation!

So imagine if it takes that long for us to see results and we are here EVERYDAY, what do other people see? It is nearly devoid of value to others because 1) what do they care about me and my brats? and 2) they do real things in the real world and they have numbers to show for it. Numbers!

What do I have? Snot on my sweater.

So this is a case of me against myself and the world. I have everything to prove. To everyone and to myself.

That I can have focus. That I can do shit. That I am not just a mom. Is this a case of trying too hard? Am I acting like Ms. Houston trying to be "every woman"? Do I have a case of modern-woman-itis?

I don't know.

I would just like to add another title to my resume that has nothing to do with parenting and everything to do with NUMBERS, damnit!!

Cute cute song

OK, had to share. Super cute cover:
http://www.youtube.com/user/1ch3nt31#p/f/1/mo6xkHasPGY

Bar fly

So why flies in the background?

Because all I can think about lately is flies. They're all over the dang place! I open the door: zoom! 5 of 'em in the kitchen. And it seems they know. THEY KNOW I HATE THEM. And I have fly blood on my hands! They knooooow!! And they're after me.After I swat at them they come back with a vengeance. They want to taunt me and show me that I can't get them.

Seriously.

So in a lame attempt to get them off my back (not literally. EW!) I am putting them all over my blog. And also, because my life is filled with things that I constantly have to swat at... Things that bother me so, but need to be ignored for other more important things. Like TV. Or ice cream.

Maybe I'll learn to live with them (doubt it). Or co-exist (NEVER!). OK, I'll stick to trying to survive the summer without going crazy every time I hear something buzz incessantly.

So that's why it's flies.

Hello, my name is Lucia...

And I'm a perfectaholic. Now, not saying I'm perfect. FAAAAAR from that.

I suffer from "nevergoodenough-itis". It's actually pretty common but people don't like admitting it. It's like herpes. But less itchy. Not that I know what herpes is like... umm... awkward turtle... (really, I don't).

Its funny that this would have been a great disease to have say... 8 years ago! Like when I was in college. But back then I suffered from "Idon'tgiveacrap-itis" when it came to assignments and grades.

NOW is a different story. NOW I have not one but TWO children. One 2 1/2, another 6 weeks old. And what do I find myself doing? Trying to be Susie Homemaker! Betty Crocker! Martha Stewart! Barbie! Who am I?? ***pulls hair out***

I am a Type A lunatic who tries to do everything. Asks for help with nothing. And makes sure its perfect every time. To some that's great. And I admit I get a great sense of accomplishment when I manage to tackle laundry, clutter duty, dishes AND dishwasher, kitchen mess, dinner, play with the children (and not lose it) and take a pee break in a matter of a day. Who doesn't?

The problem is when this doesn't happen. That's when any one of the above mentioned domestic ladies crawls into my head, with their little apron on, a hand mixer in one hand and a feather duster in another and asks me: Is that the best you could do? Come on. This is your JOB.

And I sit there, with exhaustion clear in my droopy eyelids and achy back, short temper and crying kids as proof of a hard day, a crappy microwave dinner waiting on the table for my hard-working husband to arrive and all I can think is: I should have done more. I should have tried harder. This is not good. At all.

So I trump my own (small) accomplishments because they lack grandeur in my sick sick mind. Sure, I have played the exhausted mom card on occasions when maybe I spent a little too much time ragging on Lindsay Lohan or hating on the Kardashians. But even that's a rare occurrence nowadays.

Now that I have two kids I find that I do MORE than I did when I had one. I mean, WAY more. I am so much more on top of the ball with things that I surprise myself. It makes me feel weirdly grown-up. Reminds me of the things I saw my mom do for my sister and me not too long ago. And I think that's when the perfectionist comes out. Because the apprentice always has to surpass the master and well, what do I have to show for it besides a huge pile of dirty dishes and soiled onesies? Says Susie Homemaker: " There is no such thing as an off-day!!" and "There's always room for improvement!!".

I admit I have always had a problem with perfection in different aspects of life and I suspect it came with the results-oriented and conditional praise I often received growing up. Being labeled as a "gifted" kid, there were all these expectations pinned on me and hopes and dreams that my parents would just assume would happen. And if it wasn't anxiety issues in grade school it was food issues in college and then exercise mania and now this crap. Not to get all freudian-psych therapy-ish here, but the point is I think that's where it comes from.

...I know, you're all "Oh, wah wah wah, I'm to smart for my own good! Wah wah wah!! I vacuum and exercise at the same time and my kids are cute, wah wah wah! Please shut the fuck up, Lucy."

Mess and clutter are members of our family now and while I don't love them and wish they would only visit a couple times a year (see? they're really family!) I am learning to live with them. As long as they leave the room when asked to, don't intervene in my family life and stop mentioning what a good girl so-and-so was and how she would have made a faaaar better wife than I, I will let them hang around.

It's like the schizophrenic that has to learn who is real and who isn't. I need to learn to ignore those two mothafuckas and get on with my life.

Damn, I need a vacation from myself.

In the car, pretend driving w/ B in the drivers seat. Strangely, that sounds like everyday!

She got it from her mama

So today I was on this website: stuffwhitepeoplelike.com and I was having a grand 'ole time. And I laughed so hard at the post on camping. Sooooo much. I thought it was hilarious. And as I sat there doubled over in laughter, for a moment I felt like I could hear my mom laughing. And I realized I laugh just like her.

I understand why for a long time I thought 'I know exactly how my sister and my dad laugh, but I can't even bring my mom's laughter to mind'. Bizarre, but tonight I got it. It's because my laughter is hers. We laugh almost exactly (if not identically) the same.

And it hit me: I am my mom. I mean, not like that, but in ways I don't have ANY control over. None and that's scary and comforting at the same time.

Again, not meant to be a meaningful post, just rambling.