The Kroger Bigtime

If all goes well, in just a couple of hours I'll be standing in front of the holy grail of grocery stores; the new Kroger Marketplace in Little Rock.  A few of us die hard Kroger fans are making the trek into Little Rock to see what all the fuss is about.  Seriously, I'm so excited I could pee myself.  Cause I'm old, and a mom, and we get excited about new Krogers and coupons and stuff.  I'm thinking that the three of us adventurers should have had T-shirts made up or something to commemorate this event.  My first foray into a super Kroger.  Totally t-shirt worthy.  I've got to go get ready now, but I'll log in again later to add some thoughts about the Kroger experience.

Fairy Tale

Once upon a time, there was a girl.  Not too pretty, not especially witty, not exactly talented at anything.  Just a regular girl, with a regular family, doing regular things.  And she was okay with that, because without regular people, the special people wouldn't stand out. Her job being regular was pretty important, in fact. Then, she saw The Real Housewives series on Bravo, and realized that sometimes regular people get famous for doing, well, nothing. And this girl became jaded, because, afterall, if "regular" people start becoming famous for doing nothing, then, really, they are special afterall.  She started wondering if really she wasn't so regular.  Wondering if perhaps she was a special person, kept under wraps.  She thought perhaps she could be famous someday, for doing something, which is really nothing, that everyone else does, too.  Because that's how the reality stars do it.  If Snooki is famous, why can't  I be as well?, she wondered.  Unfortunately, there will always need to be regular people around, and she'll never, ever be famous. There will always need to be regular girls with regular lives to become addicted to watching the regular lives of others on television. Still, a girl can dream of becoming a tramp on the Bachelor or a roommate on The Real World, or a guidette on Jersey Shore, right?

The power of the hormone

How shall I put this?  My family is crazy.  Literally.  I won't go into detail, but it is indeed a fact that many many people on both sides of my family have had breakdowns or been diagnosed with depression or manic depression.  So, the odds are, someday I"m gonna flip like a lightswitch from a perfectly sane person to a nutball.  Thankfully, my husband knows this, accepts it, and promises to take me to the doctor and have me medicated as soon as it happens.  You know your hubby loves you when he even accepts the crazy that's lurking right under the surface.

Every month, my family gets a little free preview of what I'll be like when I finally go off the deep end.  PMS washes over me like a wave of hormones, and I go off.  On everyone.  For no reason.  The funny thing is---funny odd, not funny ha ha---that I can feel myself slipping, sliding off into crazytown.  Yet I'm powerless to fight it.  It starts with a headache, and then I can actually feel my body change.  My mental processes are completely altered. By the time I realize it, it's too late to change.  So, I try my best to steer clear of stress, and make darn sure not to schedule any teacher meetings that week.  It's truly horrific.

This post really has no point.  I can't make PMS funny. The fact that I spend a week of every month making everyone miserable isn't a joke. So, there's no sattire or pithiness to this post.  It's more of a fair warning to friends and family.  That day is approaching.  Be on the look out for me to be completely irrational.  I love you all, and hope you can forgive me.  But, if you see me slapping someone around, please call my husband and tell him that the day has come that the family check has come to be cashed. 

Like Sands Through the Hourglass.....

I've just turned 34.  I'm not secretive about my age, although it's not like I want it displayed on the big screen at Cowboy's stadium or anything.  Thirty-four is young, right?  Theoretically, I've got like 50 or 60 more good years left.  That's what I keep telling myself.

Yesterday I blogged about wanting to be become a lawyer, but never following through.  Seems my fate is to be "Just a Mom".  Not that there's anything wrong with that.  If mother's ruled the world, the world would be a better place, as we are the ultimate multi-taskers. When my children are mad or scared about something going on at school, I always tell them to be quiet and still, and God will help them to learn what their purpose in life is; what they were put on this earth to do.  So, I try to take my own medicine, but NOTHING happens when I am quiet and still and listen.  And, like I said before, there's nothing wrong with it, but surely God's purpose for me isn't only to be "Just a Mom".  (It doesn't even look any more appealing in quotes and capitals.)  The sand in the hourglass just keeps falling, and the time I've got left to really make a move is less and less.

I pray, and I think, and I dream, but still I get no firm message telling me what I'm supposed to be doing.  I want a mission, damn it!  I want to feel a part of something bigger than myself.  Something I can look back on in those waning years and say, "I did that."  An accomplishment for my children to look upon and dare themselves to dream as big.  Maybe I'm not a dreamer, really.  Pragmatism has always been my thing, and I've more often than not been too crippled with fear to make anything but lateral moves in my own life. Maybe my destiny is simply to foster their dreams.  Still.....

Who am I to challenge those kids to listen for God's message?  What a huge hippocrite I am!  If fulfilled dreams were pizza toppings, I'd only have cheese to show for all the years I've spent on this earth.  Sure, I'm rearing my children to be good Christians, good workers, good students, good samaritans, blah, blah, blah. But what am I doing for myself?!  For my kids' sake, shouldn't I be challenging myself to do something a little more intense than watching Jersey Shore on Friday nights?  Seriously, if I could go back in time, I'd force myself to overcome the fear of rejection and failure, and enter law school.  It would seem my Delorean is in the shop for now, so there'll be no "Back to the Future" moment for me. 

Soooo, do I give up, suck it up, and be happy I'm so lucky (see previous post)?  Do I keep listening for God to outright tell me what move to make?  Or, do I gird my loins, fill out the applications, take the tests, and force myself to do something fantastic for myself.  Such a scary proposition. Maybe that's what God has been trying to tell me all along with His silence. Afterall, God helps those who help themselves, right? Time will tell.

A Full On Intervention

First, let me put this out there: I coupon.  I love it.  It's truly a hobby of mine.  Plus, it saves my family a little bit of money, and keeps the hubby happy with the grocery bill.  That being said, lately, my hobby has become more obsession than entertainment.  It's like an all out war on regular prices. I've gotten so bad about couponing that lately I've been buying things I don't really use or need solely because I have a coupon for them.  Ridiculous.

Yogurt.  I bought yogurt last week.  Guess what?  I hate yogurt, my husband hates yogurt, and my kids won't eat it.  I bought it because the coupons I had made it too cheap to not buy, and because I get a little high everytime I use a coupon.  The more the better.  I'd like to say that I bought the yogurt for the purpose of donating it somewhere, but I'd really hate to lie on my own blog.  The truth is that using a coupon to buy yogurt that I won't use is my own personal crack.  A smoker would have an easier time cutting the cancer sticks than I would have giving up my coupons.

I have a friend, Hannah, who is also a coupon addict.  We support each other's addictions.  Yesterday, we had a long conversation about our coupon strategies, what percentage we save on average, and what we tend to buy. Wonderful conversation, because together we rationalized that we really NEED those 10 boxes of fruit roll ups anyway, and how lucky are we that there just so happened to be some coupons that made them a buck.  Yes, you read right. One dollar!  Who could resist one dollar fruit roll ups?  Clearly, not us.  Two addicts making excuses for each other. We could go to AA for couponers together and save on gas.

Oh, and by the way, in case you're curious, I've got like 10 boxes of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and Cocoa Puffs stocked away.  If there should happen to be a flood over here in River Ranch (which is one of the highest neighborhoods in Benton) and we can't get out for a week or two, I'm all set.  We can live on Cinnamon Toast Crunch and Fruit Roll Ups.  I may even learn to like yogurt.

Don't even get me started on the body washes and deodorants.  My bathroom pantry could double as the body care aisle at Walgreens.  Seriously.  I'd post a pic if I weren't so embarrassed. At this very moment there are about 15 Swagger body washes just gathering dust because my husband doesn't like them.  And I've already got plans to buy more at the next mega sale.  Sick, I tell ya.  They say the first step is admitting you have a problem, but I have no intention of giving up couponing.

The time is fast approaching, though, when I must start editing the coupons that I use,  My proverbial cup runneth over with cereal, snacks, body wash and toothpaste.  Toilet paper?  I've got a whole cabinet full of "squares to spare".  Friends, I truly have no more room with which to store the fruits of my habit.  Literally, my pantry shelves are bowing under the weight of all the processed food.  So, so sad.

I'm not sure if I can do it.  Not sure if I can walk away from the coupon game. I may just have to eat more, wash more, and brush my teeth more.  Or convert the garage into a giant storage area. The one thing I know is that unless I cancel the newspaper and let Larry get the mail on Wednesdays, the coupons aren't gonna magically stop coming. So I'll continue my obsession until the walls cave under the weight of the stuff.  By the way, if you someday see me on Hoarders, please come check on Hannah----she's probably buried under her own stack of Swagger.

A long time coming....

Okay. So here's the deal. When you have four kids, time is like a commodity.  Every minute of every day is planned and accounted for. Free time is pretty much nil. There's very little time for blogs. Or showers. I'm not looking for pity, mind you, just justifying why the blog I was so excited about has sat dormant for so long.  Of course, this is a project just for myself, so for once being slow doesn't matter. At least that's what I tell myself.

Last night I watched my "baby" sleep.  He's almost four, and hardly a baby, but when one's oldest child is a "tween", four sounds so little.  Anyway, I was watching him, and thinking about how lucky I am.  Not rich, or particularly good-looking, or the smartest woman on the block, mind you, just generally lucky.  My kids are healthy, I love my husband, we mostly pay our bills (ha ha!), and I have two or three friends that I would just die for.  For the most part, I adore my children (again, rememer I have a 'tween'), and I'm so blessed--so lucky--to have them. But then I got to thinking as I watched him---what is lucky, anyway?  Isn't luck sort of a relative term?

Example:  My son broke his arm a few weeks ago.  Bad.  Like, surgery bad.  That's NOT lucky.  Nope, it's not.  However, he didn't die, and his arm is casted, and will heal in a few short weeks. Turns out, he actually landed on his head from a fall of 15 feet, with only stitches and a broken arm to show for it.  That is lucky, right? When I think about it, there isn't one bad thing in my life that someone in another worse circumstance wouldn't be thrilled to trade with me.  Like I said, luck is relative.

I've always wanted to go back to school and get a degree in law. Time and circumstance just haven't allowed it.  Someone else would just be pleased as punch to have their bachelors degree, right? Truthfully, I'm still fairly young, and still have time to do this, so why do I complain?  I'm sure that somewhere, right now, there's someone in a nursing home all alone who wishes she would have done so many things differently. Lucky for me, I'm not there yet.
  Going to Africa for a long safari has long been a "back of my mind" thought.  That 39 foot travel trailer we go camping in would make some families who've never vacationed light up with joy.  Again, luck is relative.

I saw a clp on You Tube about a man born with no arms and no legs.  He was smiling on stage, beaming, even.  Loving life.  With no arms, no legs.  Really put my little aches and pains and complaints in perspective.  When my kids are complaining about each other, or homework, or having to help clean up, I remind them of this man.  This hero.  Who, by his own sheer determination, has decided to feel lucky just to be alive.  There's that relativity again.

I guess my point is that I really need to find a way to shed a new light on the things that I consider "bad" in my life.  When I'm grumbling about loading the dishwasher, I should simply be glad to have a machine in my very own kitchen that cleans my dishes at the push of a button. And to have a kitchen over my head is more than millions of people around the world could ever hope for.  How lucky am I, really?

Today I'm almost broken with shame about the things I envy of others. The things I bug my husband to buy me.  The complaining I do about having to help my wounded child bathe each night. Who am I to be lucky enough to drive down the scenic road of my life and complain about the detours and bumps?!  Not to get all religious, but I do feel that it's purely God's grace that allows me to be so, well, lucky.  Not relatively lucky, but really really lucky. Just to be me.

A New Day; Same Story

I don't know why I, of all people, would blog. I suppose it's a bit of the "bandwagon" mentality. It could be that things happen daily that I would love to remember, to pull out later and hold on to, but my memory fails me. It could be that this is just a passing phase, much like my dedication to healthy foods and exercise! That remains to be seen.

I've always considered it a miracle that I have any friends at all. I'm moody, and often judgemental, and not what you'd call the "life of the party". Spending time alone---really alone, not with my family---is what I crave. There are days when I seek refuge in the shower just to steal 15 minutes of alone time. Of course, we built our house ourselves, and my husband, God love him, failed to put locks on our master bathroom doors, so I'm really not at all guaranteed the privacy I so crave. More often than not, I'll be there, in my lovely glass shower, listening to the radio and shaving my legs, when out of nowhere a herd of small children comes racing in to seek my counsel on the latest issue. Oddly enough, they seem to be oblivious to the fact that I am naked in the shower. Truly, it is very surreal to be at once surrounded by an audience while nude in a glass box. It's a bit like being on display at the zoo. But I digress. The point here is that I crave solitude, but it is all too elusive.

I have four children. I'm not sure how that happened. I get the biology of it all, but believe me when I say that I had no plans to have a large family. Just the opposite in fact. I always believed that a successful career was in my future, not a successful family. Someone once said that if you want to hear God laugh, you should tell him your plans. To whit, I am living proof. That being said, I think I'm a pretty good mom, and am raising at least moderately successful, capable children. Perhaps I'm too soft, and not enough of a disciplinarian, but I'd rather screw my kids up by loving them too much than by spanking them too often. It's a daily conundrum. I'll have to address this at some point in this blog.

But for now, I'll sign off my first post. I'm quite sure no one wants to read this, but maybe someday my children will log on and gain a little more insight into the mother they thought they knew.