As you might remember me mentioning in a previous post, I entered some scrapbook pages into the state fair. This is the 2nd year I’ve done so and last year I was lucky enough to win 2nd place in the 2 page layout category.
There are 4 different categories to enter and I entered a layout into each one this year. Now I was convinced, absolutely convinced that the 1 page layout I did of Gwen was going to steal the show – it was so good that it would literally shame everything around it. It would gleam like a diamond amongst the pile of dung that was everyone else’s entries!
Now I couldn’t find out the results until I actually went to the fair and I didn’t have tickets to go until Sunday, but my parents went on Saturday and then came to my house and congratulated me on my victory. I had won 1st place! I was instantly ecstatic. I jumped up and down as if somebody had just pulled into my driveway and handed me an oversized posterboard check.
Now I had assumed that my layout of Gwen was the winner and then they informed me that it was my State Fair themed page that had won, and instantly I was dejected.
Shouldn’t I have still been thrilled? Yes, I should have. However, I thought that page was mediocre at best. It was the last one I would have expected to win and the only thing going through my mind was that it must have been the only decent one in that category. There were probably only 3 other entries and they were created by 10 year olds with stickers and glitter glue.
Why do I beat myself up like this? Lack of confidence mostly. Just as I have a tendency to tear others down to protect myself from rejection; it seems that I must also tear myself down - why? I’m not quite sure. Perhaps I do need therapy to answer that one.
I went to the fair on Sunday and discovered to my delight that there were about 12 other very nice entries in the State Fair category and that I may have truly and actually won due to some small skill of my own.
I received an honorable mention on my 2 page layout about Aaron and I was very pleased with that as well. So I’ve been trying really hard to congratulate myself and feel like a winner without having to always conditionalize my victory both verbally and internally by constantly repeating: "I only won because the judge liked my journaling – the layout itself probably sucked – 12 other entries is really not that many to beat – if I thought that page was crap and it won then obviously I don’t know what’s good and what’s not, etc. etc."
It’s really pathetic being me.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Sextra
So I'm driving home from work today and there's this little Nissan in front of me and it's absolutely loaded to the gills. The back seat is full of pillows and a bedspread and there's a luggage bin on the top so it's obvious that it's a college student heading back to school.
It's got an Idaho license plate. Did you know that Idaho plates actually say "Famous potatoes" on them? Not that there's anything wrong with the potato. It's a very noble tuber and feeds millions of people and Idaho should be proud of its spud production, but it just struck me as funny to have it on the license plate.
But then I saw something even funnier. They had pried off the "N" from the "Sentra" label and replaced it with an X. So yes, they were driving around in a "Famous Potato Idaho Sextra!" I loved it!
It's got an Idaho license plate. Did you know that Idaho plates actually say "Famous potatoes" on them? Not that there's anything wrong with the potato. It's a very noble tuber and feeds millions of people and Idaho should be proud of its spud production, but it just struck me as funny to have it on the license plate.
But then I saw something even funnier. They had pried off the "N" from the "Sentra" label and replaced it with an X. So yes, they were driving around in a "Famous Potato Idaho Sextra!" I loved it!
Monday, August 6, 2007
Me - Harsh? What a shocker!
I’ve recently been told that I tend to come across as harsh, judgmental, and critical, which is obviously a load of crap – and the people that think that must just be retarded jackasses.
Alright so maybe there’s some truth to it.
However, those who love me are smart enough to know that I criticize others as a defense mechanism because I’m always afraid of not being liked. It’s a lot easier to deal with the fact that someone might not like you or want to be your friend if you can convince yourself that they’re white trash, or snobbish, or stupid.
Why am I telling you this? Well so that if you ever meet anyone who you feel is overly critical and judgmental of others or of you, maybe stop and think of how pathetic their self esteem is and maybe try to pity them a little. It could be a cry for help and acceptance . . . or maybe they really do think you’re an ass, it’s hard to tell.
Alright so maybe there’s some truth to it.
However, those who love me are smart enough to know that I criticize others as a defense mechanism because I’m always afraid of not being liked. It’s a lot easier to deal with the fact that someone might not like you or want to be your friend if you can convince yourself that they’re white trash, or snobbish, or stupid.
Why am I telling you this? Well so that if you ever meet anyone who you feel is overly critical and judgmental of others or of you, maybe stop and think of how pathetic their self esteem is and maybe try to pity them a little. It could be a cry for help and acceptance . . . or maybe they really do think you’re an ass, it’s hard to tell.
It’s like 8th grade all over again, except for the acne and bad 80’s fashion – my low social status is sadly still the same.
I got some new fabulous pencils at the dollar spot in Target a couple weeks ago and I love them. They’re like a marriage of the past and the present. They’re those plastic pencils with the little separate lead pieces in them – you know when you wear one down you take it out of the front and stick it in the end to push the new one forward.
They were all the rage when I was in middle school. Yes a pencil was “fashionable” and really the only fashionable thing I had since I was pretty pudgy back then too and the whole baggy t-shirt with leggings and a belt look was not working for me - but then did it really look good on anyone? I could do a mean tight roll at the bottom of my acid washed jeans though.
These pencils have Johnny Depp as Jack Sparrow on them, so there’s the nostalgia of the pencil style and the newness of the very hot pirate. I’ve been using them at work and they make me smile. It’s the little things in life!
And then she skinned the cat for dessert.
I really like Matt’s grandparents. They’re good people, they really are, but I like them mostly because they’re so darn entertaining. His grandmother loves to drink cheap beer and gamble (anything from bingo to slots), and his grandfather loves to regale us with tales of animal cruelty and slaughter. I’ll never forget the day we went to visit and he pulled the BB gun out into the living room and told us how he’d shot a couple stray cats in the head with it the week before because they were attacking the birds at the bird feeder in the back yard. I don’t know that it was the story itself that was so disconcerting or if it was his enthusiasm about it.
Anyway, they were in town this weekend and stopped over at the house for a little bit. We’ve got a pet parakeet and Grandma was asking about it – if it talks, flies etc. and then Grandpa starts telling a story about how there used to be a lot of pigeons that lived in the barn at the farm where he grew up and they were always having babies etc. and I’m soaking in the story, expecting some lovely tale of how he perhaps found an abandoned egg and kept it warm and hatched it and cared for the chick; hand feeding it and letting it sleep on his pillow until it was strong enough to be released, and then he says, “Yeah, Mom used to cook ‘em up for dinner every once in a while and they were pretty tasty.” And I remembered who was telling the story.
Anyway, they were in town this weekend and stopped over at the house for a little bit. We’ve got a pet parakeet and Grandma was asking about it – if it talks, flies etc. and then Grandpa starts telling a story about how there used to be a lot of pigeons that lived in the barn at the farm where he grew up and they were always having babies etc. and I’m soaking in the story, expecting some lovely tale of how he perhaps found an abandoned egg and kept it warm and hatched it and cared for the chick; hand feeding it and letting it sleep on his pillow until it was strong enough to be released, and then he says, “Yeah, Mom used to cook ‘em up for dinner every once in a while and they were pretty tasty.” And I remembered who was telling the story.
The Joys of Travel
I know my blog entries have been a little infrequent lately and I apologize for that – no I don’t apologize – this is my blog for God’s sake and if I want to post something once a millennium instead of once a day that’s my business. And yet, here I am giving excuses for why I haven’t posted so I guess I really am sorry. This is why I don’t need a therapist, I’m well aware of my excessive need to please others; I don’t need to pay someone to point it out to me.
Anyway, we’ve done some weekend traveling and then every evening last week I was desperately trying to finish some scrapbook projects that were due at the state fair on Saturday. They’re absolute crap that won’t win anything and I’ll end up feeling like a dejected loser (low self esteem and lack of self confidence – something else I don’t need a therapist to point out).
However, I’ve wanted to share the joys of my weekend travels with you. Two weekends ago we went to visit Matt’s family in Kansas, which is a 6 hour drive. It started out well. Matt was nauseated, due to illness and I was nauseated at the thought of 6 hours in the van with 2 small children, but had also not been feeling well the night before. About three hours in Aaron throws up. Now the nice thing about it is that he hadn’t really eaten much that morning, but he had been drinking this blue kool aid type concoction which made things quite colorful. Luckily we were near a rest area and got everything cleaned up with minimal fuss.
About an hour later he starts crying and says “I pooped”. Now he’s been doing fantastic with the potty training so it seemed unlikely that he would have just crapped himself on purpose. We stopped again and sure enough he had pooped and it was diarrhea and thanks once again to the blue drink – it was a lovely lime green color. I figure the kid, being new to the whole “Hershey squirts” phenomenon – probably just felt like he had to fart and let it rip and there was no stopping it. So when I changed him I put new underwear on him and figured he’d tell us next time he felt the urge. Nope. Half an hour later, same scene, different gas station. This time we put a pull-up on him just in case it happened again but thankfully it didn’t.
On the way back, Gwen was the problem. Let me just start out by saying that I love my children. Love them to death! Would throw myself in front of a bus for them, run into a burning building for them, jump into a shark tank for them, wear spandex in public for them – anything! That being said, let’s talk about little Miss High Maintenance.
My daughter is the sweetest thing, but if the first 8 months of her life are any indication of what the next 18 years are going to be like raising her, I might strongly contemplate selling her on the black market to some desperate couple who wants a child.
If this kid wants something, she’s gonna get it, and usually what she wants is to be held by me and to get it she’s got to scream, and she can scream. I know I’ve only got one other kid to compare her to, and maybe he was such an angel that I got spoiled, but this kid drives me crazy. She won’t sleep by herself, she’ll scream if you leave the room. It’s getting slightly better as she’s gaining the ability to move around on her own but it wears me down. If I have somebody over to watch the kids so I can get something accomplished I have to leave the room and if I need to speak to them I have to disguise my voice because if she knows I’m there she’ll scream till I come to get her.
Somehow she managed to be fairly calm on the way down to Kansas – I think it was the fact that she was entertained by her brother’s retching and the frequent stops. However, on the way home we just really tried to push through with minimal stopping and this did not make her very happy.
So for the majority of the trip home I held her in the back seat – yes, she was removed from her car seat, which I’m well aware is not safe, however, it is safer than if I had let her scream, therefore causing me to snap and club her over the head like a baby seal. However, she still was not happy. I think she just really wanted to be out of the vehicle and had she been 8 years instead of 8 months old, her screaming would have translated into something like: “I am like so sick of riding in here Mother. You can’t do this to me. I am so going to hold my breathe until I die unless you pull this van over right now and magically transport me home because I just like seriously cannot take it anymore! This is so totally unfair!”
This is my future people. Matt thinks it’s my fault. He thinks I’ve coddled her too much. I just think she’s naturally needy and the fact that I’ve coddled her has come out of the desperate desire for her to stop crying at all hours of the day. Doesn’t help that she’s been breastfed and is physically and emotionally attached to my boobs either. Maybe it will get better after she’s weaned. In the meantime, I’m not taking anymore road trips over 2 hours in length if I can help it.
Anyway, we’ve done some weekend traveling and then every evening last week I was desperately trying to finish some scrapbook projects that were due at the state fair on Saturday. They’re absolute crap that won’t win anything and I’ll end up feeling like a dejected loser (low self esteem and lack of self confidence – something else I don’t need a therapist to point out).
However, I’ve wanted to share the joys of my weekend travels with you. Two weekends ago we went to visit Matt’s family in Kansas, which is a 6 hour drive. It started out well. Matt was nauseated, due to illness and I was nauseated at the thought of 6 hours in the van with 2 small children, but had also not been feeling well the night before. About three hours in Aaron throws up. Now the nice thing about it is that he hadn’t really eaten much that morning, but he had been drinking this blue kool aid type concoction which made things quite colorful. Luckily we were near a rest area and got everything cleaned up with minimal fuss.
About an hour later he starts crying and says “I pooped”. Now he’s been doing fantastic with the potty training so it seemed unlikely that he would have just crapped himself on purpose. We stopped again and sure enough he had pooped and it was diarrhea and thanks once again to the blue drink – it was a lovely lime green color. I figure the kid, being new to the whole “Hershey squirts” phenomenon – probably just felt like he had to fart and let it rip and there was no stopping it. So when I changed him I put new underwear on him and figured he’d tell us next time he felt the urge. Nope. Half an hour later, same scene, different gas station. This time we put a pull-up on him just in case it happened again but thankfully it didn’t.
On the way back, Gwen was the problem. Let me just start out by saying that I love my children. Love them to death! Would throw myself in front of a bus for them, run into a burning building for them, jump into a shark tank for them, wear spandex in public for them – anything! That being said, let’s talk about little Miss High Maintenance.
My daughter is the sweetest thing, but if the first 8 months of her life are any indication of what the next 18 years are going to be like raising her, I might strongly contemplate selling her on the black market to some desperate couple who wants a child.
If this kid wants something, she’s gonna get it, and usually what she wants is to be held by me and to get it she’s got to scream, and she can scream. I know I’ve only got one other kid to compare her to, and maybe he was such an angel that I got spoiled, but this kid drives me crazy. She won’t sleep by herself, she’ll scream if you leave the room. It’s getting slightly better as she’s gaining the ability to move around on her own but it wears me down. If I have somebody over to watch the kids so I can get something accomplished I have to leave the room and if I need to speak to them I have to disguise my voice because if she knows I’m there she’ll scream till I come to get her.
Somehow she managed to be fairly calm on the way down to Kansas – I think it was the fact that she was entertained by her brother’s retching and the frequent stops. However, on the way home we just really tried to push through with minimal stopping and this did not make her very happy.
So for the majority of the trip home I held her in the back seat – yes, she was removed from her car seat, which I’m well aware is not safe, however, it is safer than if I had let her scream, therefore causing me to snap and club her over the head like a baby seal. However, she still was not happy. I think she just really wanted to be out of the vehicle and had she been 8 years instead of 8 months old, her screaming would have translated into something like: “I am like so sick of riding in here Mother. You can’t do this to me. I am so going to hold my breathe until I die unless you pull this van over right now and magically transport me home because I just like seriously cannot take it anymore! This is so totally unfair!”
This is my future people. Matt thinks it’s my fault. He thinks I’ve coddled her too much. I just think she’s naturally needy and the fact that I’ve coddled her has come out of the desperate desire for her to stop crying at all hours of the day. Doesn’t help that she’s been breastfed and is physically and emotionally attached to my boobs either. Maybe it will get better after she’s weaned. In the meantime, I’m not taking anymore road trips over 2 hours in length if I can help it.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Everyone wants to be like me!
So my best friend Shawna has created her own blog. I think she just got tired of reading mine every day so she figured she’d make her own. I’ve placed a link to it on the right side of the page, not that I would expect her to do the same and put a link to my blog on hers, wink, wink, nudge, nudge.
You should check it out because she’s very funny, a little too funny actually, maybe you shouldn’t check it out because then you won’t want to read mine anymore. That’s her whole plan right there – to steal my audience. That filthy little . . .
Just kidding. She’s always been one of my biggest supporters in everything I do and I love her like a sister. My kids know her as “Auntie Shawna” and we’ve already decided that if by any chance we should both find ourselves sans husbands we’ll just move in together and live out our lives letting the neighbors wonder whether or not we’re lesbians.
You should check it out because she’s very funny, a little too funny actually, maybe you shouldn’t check it out because then you won’t want to read mine anymore. That’s her whole plan right there – to steal my audience. That filthy little . . .
Just kidding. She’s always been one of my biggest supporters in everything I do and I love her like a sister. My kids know her as “Auntie Shawna” and we’ve already decided that if by any chance we should both find ourselves sans husbands we’ll just move in together and live out our lives letting the neighbors wonder whether or not we’re lesbians.
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