If anyone finds out, I will die of embarrassment

It's been awhile since we've heard anything from this awesome gal over here at Casa Mad Woman. I've had this guest post sitting in my inbox for over a month and keep forgetting to schedule it, so I hope she'll forgive me. Let's give a big ol' crazy welcome to Frantic Mommy, the Queen of the Kingdom of TIRED.

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Thank goodness we are way past this stage…but there was a time our family had a secret.

It was our version of a well hid, dark secret.

It was something that hung over my head for years. And if anyone (back then) would have known the truth, I would have died of embarrassment.

The secret? Well, here it is.

When it comes to pacifiers with my kids…I am a big, giant puss-ball.

A wimp.

A total pushover.

The bottom line is, because I was such a wussy-sack-o-crap, both our kids had paci’s wwwaaayyyy too long.

Like, until they were almost 4.

Seriously.

Now do you see why I was embarrassed?

For our son it was his “gucky” and for our daughter it was her “corky”. But to me it was a crutch that I couldn’t seem to help them disengage from. So I didn’t. And the months ticked by.

Looking back now, it sounds so silly, but those “corkies and guckies” weighed our family down. A good friend moved away and repeatedly encouraged our family to come for a visit. I repeatedly declined, too embarrassed to admit that I had a 3+ y.o that still wanted a paci at night.

We suffered through the drama with our son, who gave his up right before his 4 th birthday. After several nights of howling and bawling, I swore I would never do that again. I would be stronger “Next Time.”

But along came our daughter and I managed to make the same mistake all over again.

I remember the day I finally sucked-it-up and decided rid our house of the very last Corky (our daughter’s). I waited until hubs and the 7 year old were out of town. I was pretty sure I couldn’t handle the impending drama with them yappin at me.

And I prepared.

I fretted…..for days.

I lost sleep over it.

I made up this elaborate story to our daughter about how the Corky Fairies were coming to take her Corkies back to their Mommies. I steeled myself for drama.

That morning, I told Princess Sara Boo it “was time” and we left her corkies in a dish on the counter as we left the house for the day. As we walked out, I covertly slipped them into my pocket.

I needed to get them hell OUT of the house. If they were GONE there was no way I could chicken out. There was no going back on this. Period.

As I drove my little one to daycare I plotted the Corky Disposal Plan. Maybe, I could throw them in the daycare lady’s garbage…

…but if she saw them, I would just DIE of embarrassment.

Then I thought I could throw them in the dumpster at a church donation facility that I was dropping off at that day. But when I got there, the workers were already there and if they saw me pitch two pacifiers, I would just DIE of embarrassment.

I finally settled on the dumpster at work. But when I opened it, it was empty. To throw two pacifiers in a bare dumpster might get noticed. And commented on. And if anyone saw, I would just DIE of embarrassment.

Finally I settled on the cardboard recycling dumpster and tucked the last two precious (well worn ) corkies in a box, shut the lid and walked away.

I chuckled as I envisioned (days later) an employee of the Recycling Center sorting boxes, encountering The Corkies and probably thinking “WTF??”

That night, my little Princess never said a peep. Never asked for them. Moved on like a trooper.

Sometimes we do make mountains out of molehills in life.

Did I make a big mistake by letting my kids have their pacis too long?? YUP

I admit it. I could make all sorts of excuses like “at least they didn’t suck their thumb” or “at least everyone slept well”.

Really? Whatever. I know the reality now.

So take this post with a grain of salt and please don’t leave me any long lecturing posts about irresponsible parenting. I am a pretty nice gal, but mean as sh#t when I need to be.

Just know I feel parenthood is about sharing, comparing notes, and maybe even learning from other people’s mistakes.

Go right ahead and learn from mine.

Thanks for listening

Franticmommy

Because. Just because.

Day 1 -- Day 2 -- Day 3 -- Day 4 -- Day 5 -- Day 6 -- Day 7 -- Day 8 -- Day 9

Day 10 -- Day 11

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Howdy!

You know kids hit a certain age and decide that they want to know "why?" about everything? We answer them for a while, we even try and come up with creative answers for the first 20 times they ask. Eventually we get tired of playing, perhaps even get a bit pissed off, and we end up saying "Because. Just because. That's why!". Oddly enough, this doesn't always work, but it certainly makes us feel better. Or maybe that's just me.

When I read today's prompt for "30 Days of Me", I just wanted to shout "BECAUSE!!!!". Why? Because I'm meant to tell you how I found out about Blogger and why I made one. Oh yawn. But ok.

How did I find out about it? Um, let's see. Could it possibly be that everyone and their brother has a blog on Blogger? Sure, their cousins and sister-wives are all over on Wordpress, but their brothers are here.

As for why I made one, I was originally over on Wordpress. I had the idea of setting up a blog but didn't really know where to start. One of Hotty Hubby's friends set me up over there and it was going well. Then when I didn't post for a while, I went back to find it gone. He thought I'd given up and had disabled it. He had the control, which was fine initially, but after I had a falling out with his wife and a couple of our mutual friends, it became increasingly difficult. I wanted to control the way my blog looked, the frequency with which I posted and the password too.

So, I looked around, and ta-da! Blogger!

I guess a better question would be why do I stay with Blogger. Well, mostly because I haven't got the faintest idea how to go to my own domain name easily, cheaply, efficiently, and with a minimum of fuss. Maybe one day! I'm getting to the point of needing a change so it might happen.

A good friend is cheaper than therapy

Day 1 -- Day 2 -- Day 3 -- Day 4 -- Day 5 -- Day 6 -- Day 7 -- Day 8 -- Day 9

Day 10

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*sigh* Boring!

Another picture of me and my friends is what I'm meant to share with you today. I'm not really sure what to share. I've been through my files and I'm going to go with this one:

The beautiful redhead on the left is one of my best friends ever....Ginger Rug. The gorgeous gal on the right is another of my best friends....we'll call her Rickie. These two got me through a lot in the year and a half or so before we moved to New Zealand and I miss them, and their spawn, desperately.

I tried to find a picture of the three of us with our other friend, Punchy...but alas, none were to be found. Perhaps I'll find one later.

The title I chose for this post is accurate. A good friend IS cheaper than therapy. I can't even begin to describe how much of an effect Ginger Rug, Rickie and Punchy had on my life, and continue to have to this day. They always had a shoulder to cry on, were there to laugh with or rant at, and our kids always got along well. They all had girls the same age as my son and he loved it. Our husbands liked each other and shared much the same sense of humour. Life was awesome.

I miss them a lot, and wish I could see them again, but I know that with the wonders of Facebook and Skype, we'll always be able to keep in touch.

Girls, I love ya!

Music is what feelings sound like

Day 1 -- Day 2 -- Day 3 -- Day 4 -- Day 5 -- Day 6 -- Day 7 -- Day 8 -- Day 9

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*sing with me!*

On the 10th day of whatever this is, your true love (that'd be me) gave you ..... not a whole heck of a lot.

Today, for "30 Days of Me", I am supposed to tell you what songs I listen to when I'm happy, sad, bored, hyped or mad. I was surprised at how difficult this was for me at first. You see, I'll listen to pretty much anything, at any time. It doesn't usually matter what kind of mood I'm in. So I had to put a bit more thought into this one. I had to delve deep into the recesses of my rapidly shriveling brain to retrieve what little bit of information has been hiding there.

I didn't discover much.

I have what my husband likes to call a "sucky" taste in music. I like to call it "varied".

Last month I heard that new song by Bruno Mars, "Just the Way You Are". As intrigued as I was by his funky name, the title of the song didn't particularly appeal. I mean, who the hell needs yet another soppy ass love song to make them feel shitty about the way their own romantic life is progressing? Then I actually listened to it and I was slightly less cynical. I even passed it on to make a few people feel better about themselves. It has that power. I decided, on a whim, to check out the rest of his songs. Turns out, these now fall nicely into the "songs I listen to when I'm happy" category. He has a bit of a folky style in some of them, and most of them are upbeat.

Sad or bored? A bit of Evanescence, Paramore, Linkin Park....gets me out of my funk and heading toward at least a glass of wine and a snuggle.

Hyped? A little bit of Black Eyed Peas or Pink will do me.

But when I'm mad? I like to crank some System of a Down or Tool to rage out to. There is nothing better than screaming along with the hard rockin' sounds of either of those bands to make you feel better. I suppose the next best thing would be to put an ex boyfriend's picture on a dartboard.

So what do YOU listen to in your various moods?

Pride goeth before a fall

Day 1 -- Day 2 -- Day 3 -- Day 4 -- Day 5 -- Day 6 -- Day 7 -- Day 8

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It's been too long. Things got busy around here. You know, just when I think I don't have a life, it totally comes and gets in the way.

Anyhoozle, my poor time management skills aside, I thought it was about time that I finally got around to continuing this whole "30 Days of Me" thing that I've been working on for over a month now. Sad really that this is only the 9th entry for that.

So, for Day 9 I am meant to tell you something that I'm proud of in the last few days.

Oh come back, don't worry! I'm not going to beat that old dead horse by the name of "Ishallnotscreamatmyspawn". Mostly because that's not going so well. That MAY have something to do with my (potentially genetic) low patience disorder, or it may have something to do with the fact that they've both been absolute shits lately. Either way, we won't be talking about that today because I'm not done thrashing that deceased equine yet.

What am I proud of then? Well. Turns out I am astonishingly good at setting boundaries in my life.......when I have enough people tell me to do that.

I seem to have rather a habit of taking on too much. To some of the people who know me, this might sound like absolute bullhooey but I assure you, it's true. When people need a volunteer, I am powerless to stop my hands from flinging themselves up in the air, my bat-wings doing their own little dance, to say "pick me! pick ME!". This is how I first ended up being the Secretary and then the President of the PTA at the last school the spawn attended. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed it, but it quickly grew from chairing a monthly meeting, to organizing fundraisers, to staffing those fundraisers, to .....well you get the picture. And it was the same 12 people always doing everything. I was lucky to have an amazing best friend, Ginger Rug, helping me out and keeping me relatively sane.

At the same time that I was doing the PTA thing, I was also working nights at the No Tell Motel and looking after a little boy during the day.

To say I was overstretched would be an understatement. When we moved to NZ, I made myself a promise that I wouldn't repeat the same thing. And I haven't. Sort of.

I work as a Community Support Worker. I do care of the elderly & disabled. I go into their homes and help them. Lately I have found myself picking up more hours, which is nice. What wasn't nice is that I was working 7 days a week. 7 evenings a week. Granted, some of those days I only did 3 hours work, but still. I had volunteered to work every evening when one of the girls went off sick. I thought it would be a short term thing. Three months later, I was still at it and I'd had enough.

I hadn't been home to put the kids to bed in months.

I hadn't had a coherent, adult conversation with Hotty Hubby (he has objected to being called The Man) in ages.

I was tired and grumpy and sick to death of going out for an hour or two every night. It was rarely worth the gas to go in my car.

Hotty Hubby was sick of it. And he made that known.

Finally, my new friend (squeee...I have friends here now!) Dino gave me the prod I needed and I headed into the office. I laid it all out on the table, I told them what I wanted and told them what would happen if I didn't get it and thankfully no one called my bluff.

And now? I work 2 nights during the week for an hour and both nights on the weekends for two hours.

The kids ...... happy.

The husband ..... happy.

The friend ..... proud.

Me? ..... ecstatic. And proud.