The Spaz laments bathing suits... for her daughter

Our plan for Sunday was to meet my family at the beach to celebrate my dad's birthday. Nothing could have been more appropriate for the beautiful South Florida Memorial Day weekend we were having than a day at the beach.

And I was prepared. I purchased my dad's birthday cake at Publix the night before, along with some cupcakes in a patriotic theme. I made a pitcher of margaritas to drink while lounging on the beach, and I made sure bathing suits and changes of clothing were available the day before.

So on Sunday morning when I started handing out appropriate bathing suits, I was shocked to discover that I could not find the adorable one piece bathing suit I had set out for Munchkin. Nowhere. She hinted that she had used it the day before at another family pool party, I'm not sure... it's still unclear as to where the missing (and entirely appropriate) suit went. I'm sure I'll find it shortly after I hit "Post" on this entry, though.

We were already running late (me? running late? never!) so I asked Munchkin to check her drawers in her room and find me whatever bathing suits she had in there and we'd figure out what fit. Munchkin has gone through a growth spurt lately so it appears that almost everything is too small.

She brought out the one suit I've been avoiding. The one I probably should have just gotten rid of when she received it as a gift. 

The skimpy bikini from Justice with padding.

And here's where my reasoning went sour.  We were running late, the suit was clean, it fit, and we would be only with family at the semi-private beach at a condominium that is almost empty during the summer season. And, of course, Munchkin really wanted to wear it.  So I let her wear it.

And then I spent the first portion of my afternoon explaining Munchkin's mature bikini to my sisters while I marveled at how many people were on the usually empty beach for Memorial Day weekend.  And then I drank that pitcher of margaritas and tried not to care that my 9 year old had instantly transformed into a 15 year old on the beach.

It boggles my mind, really, that these types of bathing suits are made.  In our society, where protecting our children has gone to such an extreme that I get crap from the school bus driver for allowing my child to walk the 500 feet from his bus stop to our driveway unattended, why would any company manufacture a bathing suit that gives a 9 year old boobies hidden under tiny triangles of fabric? And why would anyone, especially a mother, purchase that bikini?

Parents are organizing veritable lynch mobs to go door to door and tell neighbors of any sexual predators that lurk within their own suburban communities, and those same parents are allowing their daughters to wear padded bikinis and shorts that say "CUTIE" and "SWEETHEART" across the butts. They're enrolling their girls in cheerleading squads and dance groups that encourage their little darlings to gyrate to T-Pain and Lil Wayne while wearing belly shirts and boy shorts.

But aren't they quick to fashion a noose for any man who dares to let his eyes wander or linger too long. What do you expect?

The bathing suit top has been retired and I'm purchasing Munchkin some swim shirts to wear with the bottoms. I don't think I can make enough margaritas to be okay with her wearing that padded top out in public again.

If you're sappy and you know it...

Today the entire 5th grade at the kids' school is on their way to Epcot at Walt Disney World for the day. When Bug made the switch from home school to regular school after Spring Break we got the notice that all the other kids had been planning this trip while Bug was being home schooled and if he'd like to attend we could pay up right that very minute and they'd let him go, too.

With all the hub bub of getting him back to school, I wrote a check and promptly put the whole thing right out of my head. Seriously, that was the absolute last time I gave it even a tiny thought.

So yesterday when Bug came home from school and said "I'm so excited for the Epcot trip tomorrow!" I kind of winced.

Epcot trip, tomorrow?

He proudly produced a yellow slip of paper that told me I needed to get Bug to school at 5:30 AM and pick him up at 10:00 PM. That his food was paid for and that they suggested he bring some spending money and wear comfortable shoes.

5:30 AM?

So last night we packed Bug's cargo shorts up with some cash, a clip on watch, a trial size sunscreen, and a folded poncho, laid out his school tee shirt, and set our alarms for 5 AM.

5 AM comes really early, y'all.

So maybe it was the lack of sleep and shock to my system, but when I dropped Bug off at 5:30 this morning and watched him blend in with a crowd of other 5th graders all dressed in the same royal blue tee shirt, and heard the ferocious hum of the two ginormous charter buses that would be taking my first baby 3 hours away from me, I fought back tears.

And quickly walked back to my car before any of the other parents saw what a sap I was.  They probably think I'm a callous bitch for dropping my kid off and running back to the car.  I'm sure they think I just couldn't wait to get back to bed and log in another couple of hours of sleep before its time to bring the other two back to the school. 

I'm sure it's just the lack of sleep, but it was really so I didn't embarrass myself and poor Bug by bursting into tears as I watched all those little people climb aboard that big giant bus.

Bug had no problem with me leaving. Not even a hug or kiss goodbye from him. Within seconds he was happily chatting in a group of three other boys from his class and barely even noticed that I was leaving. This is the same kid who had such a problem making friends at his old school that I home schooled him for the better part of 5th grade. 

He's officially growing up. Crap.

Keeping up disheveled and chaotic appearances

I've never been one to "keep up appearances"... with me, what you see is what you get.  My house is messy, my clothes were probably purchased at one of my favorite thrift stores, my car has scratches and dents, and my kids eat McDonald's for dinner more than once in a blue moon.

And whenever I see a family that never shows any of that stuff I'm immediately suspicious. What price do they pay to keep that house immaculate? Why is nothing ever broken or stained? How can they have four children and not a speck of crayon on their walls?  How does she find the time to keep that house clean, pack nutritious vegetarian lunches for her children in eco-friendly reusable containers, cook a nutritious dinner, feed her children, clean it all up, make it to ballet lessons and soccer practice, and have them all bathed and tucked into clean beds with footie pajamas on by 9 pm?  And when does she manage to take eye-popping colorful pictures of all of it and post it on her blog?

I can't do it, y'all. It's just not going to happen. Maybe if I didn't work. Maybe if I had stimulants to get me through. I don't know.

But I wonder, why is it so important to us to keep up these appearances? You know that Mrs. Perfect Mom has her moments. You know there are days when the laundry piles up and her seven year old son urinates all over the seat of the toilet and the dog chews up her favorite pair of sparkly sandals.

But she'll never show it.  Why not? Why is it so important to some people that everyone think their life is just perfect? Does it make her feel better about herself if other people think her life is flawless and clean?

I think it's crazy how much pressure is put on the average mother these days. And these picture-perfect magazine spreads and blogs and 20/20 specials only put more pressure on us.

It's okay to be normal. It's okay for life to be messy. And it's okay to show it.

The Spaz lives vicariously through her daughter... and other stuff, too...

I haven't had a lot of blogging time lately and part of that is due to my attempt to organize my life.  Working on getting my proverbial crap together hasn't left me a whole lot of time to flit around the blogosphere or post anything of my own.

But things are looking a little more together in Spazland.

One of the things on my list was to get the kids involved in the activities they've been begging to do for years. While my kids have always been fairly busy with friends and family, they've never been really involved in too many extra-curricular activities. Bug was involved in scouts for a year, Munchkin has girl scouts and Goober played one season of flag football, but other than that the kids mostly spend their time playing with friends and lounging around the house proclaiming boredom.

So it was a big goal of mine to get them each involved in an extra-curricular activity.  Bug enters middle school next year and I know how easy it is for unoccupied middle-schoolers to get themselves into trouble.  Munchkin's only a year behind him, too.  So in an attempt to keep them out of the path of certain mayhem, I'm planning to keep them busy.

Not only that, but summer is quickly barreling down upon us and I definitely want the kids to have some stuff to do this summer. 

The boys have both been begging for karate lessons for what seems like forever. In fact, I distinctly remember last summer getting a pamphlet for a karate school outside of the movie theater and thinking that I had been thinking about putting the boys in karate forever.  And that was a year ago. 

So the time has come.  Today the boys will take their first karate lesson.  They're following in the footsteps of The Man who spent nearly his entire youth in a karate studio.  They're both so excited they reminded me of the lesson this morning before school. 

Munchkin, a girl after my own heart, wanted nothing more than to saddle up and take riding lessons.  I winced when I researched the cost of lessons, but finally found a place not too far away that was almost reasonable.  I set up a lesson for her on Friday afternoon and went on an all day quest to locate boots and a helmet at thrift stores before her lesson.  I did score a pair of paddock boots in her size for $5, but the helmet we had to buy new.  I guess it all evened out.

Friday afternoon, Munchkin could barely contain herself as we drove to the barn. We live in horse country. We have dressage show grounds so close to us that we can hear the announcers from our back yard when the wind is right. We're a hop, skip, and small jump away from polo country and the most elite of Florida's hunter/jumper society.

But that's not what I want for Munchkin.  When I was growing up, the barn I rode at was laid back.  Sure, we could put on our best breeches and boots and fit in with the crowd at the shows on the weekends, but back at the barn there was no pretension.  We had broken fences and weedy grass and broken pick up trucks in the back.  And when I was growing up it was my favorite place to be.

So when I pulled into the driveway at the barn where Munchkin was starting lessons, I was thrilled when a little Jack Russel terrier came running over to us and jumped right up on us.  I was elated to see patches of sand and fences that hadn't seen a coat of paint in at least a decade.  We called over the fence to a girl who was in the barn and she motioned for us to come on in, even though there were several horses grazing in the yard right outside of the barn.  A big, dark brown Thoroughbred named Bud walked right over and greeted us and I thought Munchkin might faint with delight.

The girl brought out a large pony named Misty and clipped some leads on to her to get her tacked up for Munchkin's lesson. Munchkin couldn't resist giving Misty a hug as she was being brushed.  I thought I might cry.  Instead, I took pictures.



During the lesson I had to keep myself from shouting my own instructions out to Munchkin.  I kept apologizing to her instructor, who was incredibly patient with both Munchkin and her pain in the ass mother.  I promised that from now on, I'd just drop Munchkin and go since I obviously couldn't keep my mouth shut.



Munchkin gained a lot of confidence during her lesson and by the end of it had gotten the hang of trotting and posting and getting Misty to move even when she didn't want to.  When the lesson was over, Munchkin truly didn't want it to end.  Misty, however, was thrilled to be done and ready to get back to grazing.



Her next lesson is scheduled for tomorrow. I promised I wouldn't stay and watch. Hopefully it won't kill me to just drop her off.  

If falling off the wagon explains letting an addiction beat you, then I'm addicted to not feeling like crap and not being tired all freaking day.

I'm failing.

The dog is mad at me.

We have not been for a walk since Sunday. 

It started Sunday when I stayed up a little too late. I was just trying to get things done, finish up some work, and before I knew it, the clock was creeping into the AM hours and I wasn't even yawning.

So Monday morning I didn't wake up as early as I needed to get out for our walk.  Poor Sudo.  Monday night was a repeat of Sunday night and I woke up so late on Tuesday morning that the kids were late to school.  Then I gave The Organization Project a firm kick in the nuts yesterday afternoon when at 3 o'clock I decided I needed a nap.

And all those nasty thoughts are creeping in.  Self defeating thoughts.

"What's so great about being a morning person, anyway?"
"I work better at night."
"I've been functioning just fine for this long." (That one is just an outright lie.)

I know I have to jump back on the wagon.  I just hate going to bed at 10:30. I mean, so much happens after 10:30. All the best Bravo shows, most Internet drama trainwrecks, and eBay's highest traffic times are all happening after 10:30.

It is a bumpy and rickety wagon to have to cling to, y'all.

It's a big, scary, gym sneaker stinky world out there... and I'm just trying to keep my babies from it as long as possible...

I have not fallen off the face of the earth and I have not stopped with my Morning Person routine, either. It has not been easy and I can't say I have reached that point where I hop out of bed, fresh-faced and bushy-tailed and excited to greet the day. But I'm awake.

And productivity has increased, slightly, so that's a plus. Procrastination has decreased and things are getting a little more organized.  All is going according to plan.

But I'm still tired. 

And many sources have stated that it might take about 3 weeks to a month for me to stop being so tired.  Here I am, only having one week under my belt and I already feel like I'm dragging myself across the ground by my fingertips.

So keep your fingers crossed.

This week, and the rest of the month, are shaping up to be busy days. This week we get to go to an Orientation for Bug's middle school.

And that freaks me out. Middle School.... 6th grade was probably the worst years of my life as a kid. Going from the safe, only slightly judgmental halls of my elementary school to this gigantic, smelly, atmosphere filled with gigantic, smelly kids who wanted nothing more than to make my life hell.

Those were the days of self-discovery.  They were the days when we figured out where we "fit in"... what social group we were destined to belong to and where we ranked on the social ladder.  It's like before 6th grade we were all just a happy lump of clay and by the time we entered high school we were a discernible piece of pottery. Some of us with more cracks and blemishes than others.

So to say I'm nervous about Bug starting middle school is an understatement. But he is blissfully optimistic and excited. He has friends that will be attending this middle school, he is impressed with its size and shiny promises. And I am determined not to dampen his spirits.  Hopefully his experience with 6th grade will be nothing like my own.

Still tired... so very, very tired...

So when we were preparing our skin for melanoma sitting outside at Outback on mother's day we were discussing this blog.  Affectionately referred to as "the blog" by my family.

B1 has taken to saying to people when we're together "Be careful! She'll blog about that!"

Which delights me to no end, actually.

Anyhow, B1 noted I'm always trying to improve myself and that she might not like the new and improved me as much as she likes the old and spazzy one. I couldn't help but chuckle.

My Dad noted that I just thrive on having goals.

But the truth is that I really am just not happy with my disorganized, crazy, messy life. I know I'm missing out and I know my family suffers for it.  It's that thought that is keeping me going with this little project I'm working on now.

Because if it weren't for those "goals" in my head, I would have totally given up on this "Becoming a Morning Person" thing today. 

I'm sure it will take some time for me to get used to this new schedule of mine where I wake up early, stay up all day, and go to bed early.  But in the meantime, I'm absolutely so incredibly tired.

Today I was pretty okay until about 3 pm.  And then the tired set in.  It took everything I had to keep on trucking and not just crawl into bed for a nap.  But somehow I managed to finish work, feed the kids, get some laundry done, get Munchkin's supplies for her project (due tomorrow, of course), and take Goober over to the park for this season's football pre-qualifying session.

Goober will be playing tackle football this year.  Not flag.  This makes me nervous... but darnit if he won't look cute in that uniform. I can't wait to get pictures.

The Spaz decides she is too tired to come up with a good title for the post

Yesterday was my first day in my attempt to change from a night owl to a morning person.  Sunday night I managed to get to sleep by 11:30 (not 10:30 as I had originally hoped) and my alarm was set for 6:30 AM, instead of my usual 7:00 AM.  This was to allow time for walk with the dog, which would get me into the sunlight, which would stimulate cortisol, which would turn me into a happy person for the day.

So 6:30 came along and I managed to not hit snooze even once. I got out of bed and grabbed the walking clothes I had set out Sunday night and got myself ready for walking.

Somehow I blearily clipped Sudo's leash onto his collar while he excitedly wagged his entire body. How does the dog have so much energy at 6:30 in the morning?

It wasn't until we were returning from the walk that I think I woke up.  But I did feel somewhat better and I didn't have any desire to take a nap.  At least not then.  And my stomach was awake, which is a whole new feeling for me.  My stomach doesn't typically wake up until mid-morning or sometimes lunch time, but this morning I was positively hungry and it wasn't even 7:30 yet.

I returned back to the house around 7:05 and had just enough time to fix myself some oatmeal and an egg burrito before I had to wake up the kids and take them to school.  Having their clothes laid out the night before was awesome and  by the time I had to deal with them I had woken up enough that I wasn't a nasty grump, like I usually am. I changed into normal clothes and we were in the car and they were dropped off early enough for Munchkin to have her social time.

Under normal circumstances, I would have dropped the kids at school in a half-awake haze and driven home only to crawl back into bed until around 10 or 11. But today, I drove straight to buy inventory.  I spent all morning shopping and it was around noon that I felt my first crash feeling.

I really really wanted a nap.

But I persevered. 

The rest of the day was sort of foggy. My energy was low and I spent the rest of the time watching the clock and counting down the minutes until I could crawl into bed.

This morning person thing is going to take some getting used to.

Mother's Day in Spazland

Yesterday we celebrated Mother's Day with a flurry of activity. In the morning we met up with The Man's brother and his girlfriend to take The Man's mom out to brunch. After our delicious brunch at Brio, we strolled around the mall together and did some window shopping.

In the afternoon I dragged The Man and the kids to my favorite thrift store and scored a bunch of school shirts for the kids and then we were off to pick up some chocolates for my mom.

Before we knew it, it was time to meet my family at Outback to celebrate Mother's Day and my mom and dad's 46th Anniversary.

The Man and I pulled into the parking lot of Outback first and immediately I knew there may be some issues. The parking lot was FULL.  And it was only 4 o'clock. And we had a party of 11.

The Man asked if I had done the call-ahead seating.

oops

So I leaped out of the car and ran into Outback to put our name in, as if me running into the restaurant would somehow really make our wait shorter.  The hostess sort of smirked at me when she handed me our pager and said the wait would be about an hour and a half.

I really should have done that call-ahead seating thing....

But luckily, our Outback has a beautiful patio overlooking some water where we could sit and wait.  It's not really used for dining, but while we were waiting one of the servers came over and let us know that if we wanted to eat outside he could set us up right away.

So when the rest of our party arrived, it was decided that we'd give the outside thing a go. It was an overcast day with a slight breeze, a relatively cool day for South Florida in May, so we thought it would be comfortable.

And it wasn't too bad.

For a little while.

It was about the time that the waiter was taking our order that the clouds parted and the South Florida sun beamed down upon us like someone had turned on a tanning bed to "golden crisp" setting.  We grabbed umbrellas from our cars, we fanned ourselves with menus, I held my margarita glass to my neck.

And then The Man suggested we get our food to go.  And everyone rejoiced at the wonderful idea.

So we had our Mother's Day/Anniversary dinner in blissful air conditioned comfort at my mom and dad's house. Hoorah.

Saying Goodbye to my 1 AM rendezvous with Facebook...

So, I've always had high hopes of being one of those people that awakes, smiling, at the first crack of light in the sky. The person who can happily stretch and put on their running shoes and go for a nice morning jog before anyone else in their house has opened an eye.

I've attempted it. I even had a good, two week stretch where I woke up every morning at about 6:30 and took the dog for a 2 mile walk. The something got me off track and that was the end of that. The dog gets a morning shuffle around the yard from me these days and then gets ushered back into the house so I can get the kids to school on time.

They say that successful people are morning people. I have never succeeded at changing myself into a morning person.  But I've done some research and discovered that it is, indeed, possible to change from a night owl to a morning person.  So, in the name of The Organization Project and my poor, neglected dog, I'm going to try.  This is officially Step 1 of The Organization Project.



I know, I'm such a font dork.

In my research, I've learned that genetics really does play a big part in whether a person is a morning person or a night owl. This article was pretty eye opening to the idea that it's all my mom and dad's fault that I'm like this.

Mom and Dad are not morning people.  My whole life they got up in the mornings and did what they had to do... but mornings in our home were not cheery occasions.  My father is not even human until he's had a few sips of coffee, but he knows the value of being awake in the mornings and therefore has always been up at a respectable hour.  When I was in elementary school, my mother bought me a loud alarm clock and made sure I knew how to get to school on my own every morning, rather than pull herself out of bed at the ghastly hour it would have required to see me off to school.

So I'm fairly sure that the "morning person" gene is not in my system.

So, like my parents, I'm going to have to train myself to be a morning person. Everything I've read has said pretty much the same things. Do not hit snooze, prepare the night before, get outside and take a walk first thing, do not take naps, turn off computers and televisions 2 hours before bedtime, don't exercise in the evenings, and don't drink caffeine or alcohol late in the day.

Right, drink all my booze in the mornings.

Just kidding.

Some other tips I thought were helpful were to give myself something to look forward to in the morning, use an alarm clock that lights the room slowly (I actually have one of those that I never use), take a melatonin supplement 4 hours before bedtime, take a warm shower or bath before bed, and keep the bedroom at a cool 70 degrees (which may cost a fortune in South Florida... so we'll see about that).

So, beginning Sunday night, I'll be putting Step 1 of The Organization Project to work.  I'll make sure I have all of our clothes laid out and ready for Monday and everything ready to go for the day. At 6:30 I'll take my melatonin and I'll turn off the computers and the TV by 8. I'll take a warm bath and snuggle up in bed with my nook (on night setting, of course) and if all goes well I'll be in dreamland by 10:30.

Wish me luck, Internetz. I'll need it.