27
Jun

Next Friday

and you KNOW this, MAAAAAAAAN.

*sigh* I love Friday. The movie and the day… but today I am totally looking forward to NEXT Friday. The 4th of July Blitz. WOOT. Where my friend, ED (a girl, no I am not kidding) and I will probably drink too much and dance too loudly and drunkenly in my garage (wide open in front of the entire neighborhood) to 80’s music while we attempt to convince ourselves we are in junior high again.

My kid will roll their eyes, Mike will undoubtedly imbibe one too many keg beers and scorch his scalp under the firework sparks (AGAIN) and we will all eat too much, drink too much and be so damn merry that it will be the best 4th of July since Bing Crosby tap danced with Danny fuckin’ Kaye.

Wait. Wait… wrong holiday.

Perhaps you get my point anyway, right?

*sigh* I freakin’ love summer.

Amy's Musings Tales From An Anti-Soccer Mom  
June 27th, 2008
26
Jun

Hell Week

Ok, so this post ought to perfectly describe how this week works for me. Yeah, it’s funny and only slightly exaggerated. The truth of the matter is that I dread this week with a passion only rivaled by Miss Britt’s addiction to shoes.

This is the week where I become convinced that my life is in the toilet, all is hopeless, and that my husband is an even bigger asshole than I was previously convinced he was. It’s a dark, sad, angry week. It’s oh so funny to imagine a stapler poking out of my husband’s head and wishing someone would invent a contraption that would allow me to send some sort of electric volt directly into each of my children’s butt cheeks by remote control, because let’s face it, shock collars are so “1980 called and they’d like their Judas Priest get up back.”

But, the sad truth is that I will undoubtedly pour myself a glass of red wine, climb the stairs to my sanctuary (aka bedroom) flip on a lovely, unemotional documentary and then attempt to forget all about back aches, bloating, migraines, cramps, acne breakouts, telephones, business, children, messes, laundry, the husband (unless he wants to provide that long promised back rub), and the rest of life’s little stresses that are just too much, no matter how insignificant, this week.

I’ll listen to some sad songs, cry, eat too many carbs, have another glass of wine and then fall into a, hopefully, dreamless sleep.

Last year I discussed with my doctor how horrible my PMS symptoms are. She suggested doubling my anti-anxiety, anti-depression meds during this week. Until I described the symptoms I have outside of that week, then she decided to double them full-time. Strangely enough, I don’t see much, if any, difference during this week - but the rest of the time I’m pretty cool.

*sigh*

I’m convinced that no matter how sympathetic they think they are - men have NO idea what women go through just to ensure the continuance of the human race.

Fuckers and their abilities to pee standing up, inability to bear children, and complete lack of PMS/periods.

Amy's Musings Tales From An Anti-Soccer Mom  
June 26th, 2008

Boy, it’s been one hell of a week. I wanted to end on a happy upbeat note, but I just don’t think I can. I’m not good at being vulnerable. I’ve spent most of my life having to look out for someone else being vulnerable was not something I’ve had time for. I’ve always been the type of person to believe that good prevails in the end and when I’ve been given the opportunity, I’ve tried to speed that process along.

When Mike and I were on our honeymoon we received some very poor customer service at a chain store. By the end of the day I had the district manager on the phone, received an apology, the employees were written up, and we received a bunch of free stuff and a follow up letter of apology.

When an unscrupulous dental corporation attempted to fight me on the unemployment I was due - I fought them viciously and won. I got not only my unemployment but the judge at the hearing issued a very stern reprimand letter to the corporation and told me I probably had a good shot at a law suit. That’s not something that normally happens around here with the unemployment office. I followed this up with a labor complaint that ended in a decent settlement as well. I didn’t pursue the lawsuit even though Gloria Allred was willing to look into at one point (that isn’t name dropping or bragging, she was only interested because there was an element of sexual harassment). I probably should have but at that point I just wanted to walk away from the whole thing.

I put my job in jeopardy originally by alerting the dental investigator for southern California that children were being abused in the dental offices. I recall at the time, that Mike wasn’t too supportive of that because of it jeopardizing my job. But, no one else was willing to speak out for those children and I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try.

My point? Well, it’s not that I’m some big, bad person who wanders around kicking ass. Not at all. In fact, my point is more that I wasn’t the “give up” kind of person. I have always had a deep desire for fairness and justice, the lack thereof has always been something that enrages me deeply. I get that from my mom, undoubtedly.

So, ten years ago? I would have fought this chicken thing tooth and toenail. Although, what is there to fight? What would I be looking to have at this point? I’d like an apology and an admission of general fuck up from this Code Enforcement Officer and the rest of the moronic department, I suppose.

These days I just feel like life has kicked my ass. Like the big bully is standing there yelling at me to get up and all I can do is just drag myself off somewhere. I’m tired. Really, really tired. And, I don’t feel like I have the support that maybe I once had. I’m just not the Erin Brockovich type anymore.

So I sit here, in effect, screaming at the ocean. Wishing things were different… wondering why they aren’t, and frustrated because it seems the more I wiggle the more the noose tightens. I look over at Mike as if to say, “you’ve got my back, right?” only to find that he’s angry and annoyed with me for even being upset about any of this. And, I feel like a child who has been told to stop crying about the ice cream she dropped in the dirt.

I don’t know, I guess when the person who means the most to you and is supposed to be your life partner, sees no validity in the things that matter to you, that you feel emotional and passionate about (and let’s not just reduce this to chickens, it’s more than that) - it no longer feels so important, worse yet, you feel a little worse about yourself for “getting so worked up” over it.

I feel that for every feeling of discontent that I have I must first close all the exits, cross every t and dot every i just to prove that my feelings have worth and value. Sometimes it feels like a constant battle, which person’s cares are more important. Not that I feel that way, but after feeling like nearly every feeling you have is devalued, you just want to scream and say, BUT I FEEL THIS WAY, WHY DON’T YOU CARE?!?!?!

I can’t seem to make it clear that to me, agreeing with someone and caring about their feelings is not the same thing. I’m ok with someone not agreeing, but I’m not ok with being put down for having those feelings. And, just because you don’t agree doesn’t mean you can’t care. At least in my book.

Amy's Musings Tales From An Anti-Soccer Mom  
June 20th, 2008
19
Jun

Fowl Drama

Thanks to my MIL who spent some time researching instead of doing what WE did which was to believe someone from the city that they knew what they were talking about, the following was found yesterday:

6.08.010 Keeping prohibited—Exception.
It is unlawful for any person to keep or have under their care, custody or control, either as owner or otherwise, any chickens, ducks, geese, or poultry or fowl of any kind whatsoever, within the city, unless same are kept securely enclosed in a yard or pen at all times. (Prior code § 9.02.010)

We had two, tiny, bantam chickens. They were not capable of leaping the fences (which are over 6 feet tall) they were secure within our backyard and spent 80% of their time UNDER the butterfly bush. The following is the email I sent off last night to the gentleman who showed up and fed us a load of bullshit regarding our pets.

We researched the City Code here -
http://www.qualitycodepublishing.com/codes/bakersfield/

6.08.010 Keeping prohibited—Exception.

It is unlawful for any person to keep or have under their care, custody or control, either as owner or otherwise, any chickens, ducks, geese, or poultry or fowl of any kind whatsoever, within the city, unless same are kept securely enclosed in a yard or pen at all times. (Prior code § 9.02.010)

——————-

Our bantam chickens were SECURE within our yard. You saw for yourself that they were kept securely within our yard. According to this code here - we were well within our rights and now we have had to deal with our 4 year old absolutely heartbroken at the loss of her beloved pets.

Can you please explain to us why you led us to believe that we were doing something that was against code? Is this a change in the code you were unaware of?

Mike and I would appreciate a response and explanation regarding this. Furthermore, I would be interested in knowing who made this complaint as it does appear to lack legitimacy in light of this code.

Thank you for your help in this matter,

Mike and Amy Doran

Maggie has been absolutely heartbroken over Chickie being gone. We had to deal with her SOBBING most of the day when they were taken away. The anger I am feeling right now is nearly quadrupled to what I felt on Monday.

I cannot begin to tell you how STUPID I feel. After all the years I have spent not taking anyone’s word for something, always researching it myself, I stupidly saw a badge and took the jerk’s word for it. You have no idea how ignorant I feel right now. Why I didn’t research this immediately before giving up Hank and Chickie, I just don’t know. I just couldn’t believe that someone who is supposed to enforce the municipal code either didn’t know it or lied his ass off.

Either way, this is my fault, ultimately, because I didn’t investigate my own rights. That will be the last time I EVER make a mistake like this, I can tell you that.

Either to avenge my daughter’s broken heart or the injury to my pride, I’m telling you, I want BLOOD now.

Amy's Musings Tales From An Anti-Soccer Mom  
June 19th, 2008

Parenting teenagers is, at times, like a suburban version of the “Cold War.” It requires dedication, stealth and the ability to constantly remind yourself that age and treachery triumph over youth and skill any day. Therefore, it is imperative to strike first, silently, and with great stealth.

As I write this, it’s still early in the evening on Tuesday night and in about 5 or 6 hours my children will be home from their tropical vacation. But, in their minds, they will still be on “Island Time.” Which, as it turns out, is not some bullshit Jimmy Buffet made up.

They’ll arrive home late, the luggage will be left in the entry way. They might be talkative for the first 20 minutes and then they’ll crash into travel induced comas.

They’ll slowly trudge downstairs in the morning probably tired and a more than a little grumpy over the prospect of returning to their normal and very un-tropical existence. This is where Maggie comes in since she’ll be bouncing around them like a Pomeranian puppy on crack. This, of course, will have nothing to do with Mike and I spending all day prior pumping her up and explaining to her that Bubby and Katie will be here when she wakes up in the morning. However early that may be. Don’t gasp and tell me how horrible I am, this child is an absolute necessity to my strategy of keeping the teenagers just a little off balance.

MY GOD people! We’re talking about my very survival here!

Mike and I will try to be patient until one of us trips over the afore mentioned luggage for the 10th time. But, it’s that moment when we ask them to haul their luggage upstairs and unpack that reality will really set in. That’s when the war will really be on. We’ll hear the huffs, we’ll see the eyes roll and I will look at Mike and quietly I’ll whisper, “Yeah, missed you too, you little bastards.”

They are teenagers, it is perfectly acceptable for me to refer to them this way. All is fair in love and war, people, now say it with me…

This is the part that can be just a little tricky. We’ll have to step carefully here, one sudden move and they’ll have us by our jugulars. I hear that can be pretty uncomfortable, so we won’t dare to suggest that they return to their normal chore routine lest we inspire a full blown mutiny. No, instead we’ll give them a day or two before we suggest that the empty soda cans and dirty glasses that are piled in their rooms be returned to the kitchen so that the rest of the family can avoid drinking out of their hands or left over McDonald’s cups or something.

By the end of the week it might be safe to remind them that there is a chore list for each of them on the refrigerator. Maybe. I’m keeping this option open as their may be more subtle ways of handling the situation.

By next week, provided they’ve caught up with all of their friends after their “long absence” from their typical social circles, we’ll suggest that they begin some basic summer projects like cleaning out their closets.

Of course, Ethan will be attending summer school so to suggest that he clean out his closet as well when he’s trying to balance a social life, a wonderful girlfriend, summer school, and all of his other hobbies would be akin to suggesting that one should store expensive cigars in a cookie jar with the Oreos.

And all of that hinges on whether or not we have eased them back into their chore schedule without waking up with pineapples rammed up our asses and tiny umbrellas shoved under our fingernails. Subtlety is NOT in the teenager nature, therefore any attacks from that side will include explosions, rash decisions and most likely, brutality.

That’s why the first attack must be from our side, it must be swift, clear, yet subtle. Some might say sneaky, because it could easily be mistaken as a crude attempt to lull them into a sense of false security. It’s not though, it’s a multi-leveled, well thought out plan of attack. They won’t know what hit them.

Don’t think they don’t have a plan of attack. They’ll come back with little grenades called “souvenirs” and “gifts.” They can be sneaky… sneaky, but never subtle that is.

Therefore, our plan of attack must be in place before they ever arrive home. While they were on a plane I was preparing for the arrival of my offspring much like I did before their births. Well, minus the pretty nursery and me still making their beds and putting their cutesy, teeny clothes away. I cleaned the house from stem to stern. Floors were mopped and vacuumed, dishes were put away, the kitchen was scoured from top to bottom, and all the towels were washed. I was even kind enough to tidy up their bathroom that is supposed to be their responsibility that they slipped out of town without taking care of.

They will come into a house that is orderly, neat, tidy and they will mistake it to be a welcome home gesture. Ahhh. But it is so much more for clearly, the house is clean, no chores are required.

And that, my friends, is where it begins. Like a silent, ninja concrete filled boot from behind slamming right into their behinds.

Wish me luck!

Amy's Musings Tales From An Anti-Soccer Mom  
June 18th, 2008

I have been known from time to time to wake my husband up in the middle of the night whispering, “Michael!!!! Did you HEAR that?!?!?!?”

He wakes up, listens, doesn’t hear it, goes to check it out anyway, comes back to bed, teases me and goes back to sleep. Sometimes he acts grumpy and goes out to check and comes back bitching when he doesn’t find anything. Other times he says, “it’s ok, babe” rolls over and starts snoring loudly.

Except for the other night…

I woke up hearing some sort of drum beat that sounded very much like a tribe of cannibals were prepping for a feast. I shook Mike and watched as his eyes widened because, THIS TIME HE ACTUALLY HEARD IT!!! And, for once he was almost as scared as I was!

He crept downstairs (unarmed and wearing only his underwear) into the family room where nothing appeared to be disturbed with the exception of the keyboard that was on and playing a creepy (at least at 2am) drumbeat.

Liza must have been up torturing the bird and mouse partying and scared the living hell out of herself when she ran across the keyboard. Man, I wish I had a nanny cam in there or something!

The important thing here is that he finally heard the noise too.

Amy's Musings Tales From An Anti-Soccer Mom  
June 16th, 2008

Last night there was a cool breeze blowing and Mike and I sat out on the deck to enjoy the sunset. Maggie soon pranced her happy butt out on to the deck and began doing the “I really have to go potty but I’m so happy to be enjoying your company that I’ll put it off for a bit” dance.

I have to admit to briefly considering watching her prance to the point of no return and then calling Ethan to step out on the patio below for an impromptu evening shower. What? Shut up. You all know that I have an evil streak.

Instead I told Maggie to go in and go to the bathroom. She ran into our bathroom that has a small water closet with a window just above the toilet. The window overlooks the deck. Wow that sounds strange, but go with me anyway on this one.

Mike got a sort of evil grin on his face and since I was really enjoying the beer I didn’t feel the need to inquire and/or possibly stop him. He tip toed over to the open window.

“Oooooooo, oooooooo, I’m the bathroom ghost… woooooooo.”

I heard a scream and two little feet slam down on the tile. I guess that’s when she looked back and saw Mike at the window.

“MIKE!!! You don’t say bathroom ghost!!!!”

Mike laughed and I guess that made Maggie mad.

“I’ll kick your ghost ass!!!!!!”

Yep, you can go ahead and overnight that Parent of the Year trophy, folks.

Amy's Musings Tales From An Anti-Soccer Mom  
June 9th, 2008

But, I have a hard time thinking I’m as off as someone might have me believe.

This is my house (shortly before we moved in) I would have taken a new picture but a nasty dust storm has blown in and I am not going outside. Ok, so picture:

See the three windows (with the oh-so-helpful red circle?) right in the middle above my front door?

That opens on to an entry that is open to the second story ceiling. A lot of heat (during the summer) comes through those three windows. Lots of options (even inexpensive options) are available to handle this issue.

Yet, someone (who shall remain nameless to protect his/her anonymity) suggested painting a panel (perhaps cardboard?) and using a stick to put them up there in the windows.

When I objected (probably with a more horrified and offended look than I should have used) to this suggestion, I was told that no one else cares what I have in my windows, that no one else (other than myself) pays that much attention to other houses.

So, I ask you:

Do you pay attention to other houses and what things the owners may or may not have done to them or am I just strange?

How would you feel about having some sort of home made panel put in your windows that face the street?

And, yes, in case you are wondering, we DO have an extension ladder.

Amy's Musings Tales From An Anti-Soccer Mom  
May 21st, 2008
13
May

Tea Bagged?

Women are like teabags. We don’t know our true strength until we are in hot water! ~ Eleanor Roosevelt

I don’t see myself as being particularly strong. I’ve had people tell me, “I don’t know how you did that. I don’t think I could have.” I more or less just see myself as doing whatever I had to do depending on the given situation. No valiant effort, no grace under pressure, no strength in the face of adversity. Just putting one foot in front of the other.

The problem with being perceived as strong is that the people around you seem to forget that as strong as you can be, there are times when you don’t feel so strong and having to take one more step is just more effort than you can possibly muster. If you are quiet people assume you are fine as opposed to complaining nonstop where they think you are a whiner.

And fine, my friends, is in the eye of the beholder.

I’m carrying a huge load and all I can do is sit there with it on my back and keep trying to trudge forward. Sometimes I see a pretty decent return on that trudging. Other times, I worry it’s not worth it. Mostly, I just want to revert back to being 5 or 6 and stomp my feet and scream, “It’s just NOT FAIR!” because it isn’t. This is not the way things were supposed to go and I’ve worked too hard to deserve THIS.

I don’t have the energy to be THAT friend, THAT mom, THAT wife. I feel pretty alone because I don’t think people completely understand that. Actually, I’m pretty sure they don’t. Everyone has their burdens to bear. I know. I’m just a little overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all and a little dismayed at the lack of support or the outright ambivalence I seem to encounter almost daily. The ambivalence is the worst.

Then there are those rare moments when I manage to pull it together long enough to try, really TRY and I am forced to ask for help. Something, I can’t stand to do. I will spend hours researching my butt off, or trying everything I know to do before I will ask for help. Unfortunately, it seems that lately when I finally do reach out, I find myself hitting that wall of ambivalence again. It hurts, it stings, quite a bit actually.

So, I put a happy face on, pretend it’s all going to be okay. If I can’t… well, then I just stay away. I say, “I’m fine.” A lot. I avoid talking about it, ban all talk of it on the weekends, and dread Mondays in a way that is far beyond the “Mondays suck!” attitude that I might have had from time to time in the past.

I don’t remember a time when I was so close to giving up. In the past I’ve always maintained the attitude that “everything will be okay. This too will pass.” But, I’m tired now. Really, really tired. Now, I notice that when things appear to improve I almost begin to wait for the downturn, which is terrible. I never used to be like that. I used to be the kind of person that when things improved I believed that they would just continue to do so. Instead, now I think, “Oh good. This is good. Where’s the train?”

And I am just so sick of that damn train.

Amy's Musings Tales From An Anti-Soccer Mom  
May 13th, 2008

OMG.

I was alone… in my own house… alllllll weekend. Well, except for Mike. He was there too…

Is it hot in here? It feels a little warm to me… hmmmm

Annyyyyway, I spent the weekend remembering what it was like to…

nevermind.

I have to admit, kids came tumbling into the house yesterday afternoon and I was almost glad to see them. Almost. It occurred to me today that I have officially been a mother longer than I uh, wasn’t a mother. Strange. That just feels strange.

Change subject… anyway, the point is that I shut down the computer, stayed away from the telephone (sort of, but let’s not count drunk dialing, shall we?) and actually just hung out with my husband like a normal human being. As opposed to the parental/maternal/wife/business partner/hybrid thing that I usually am. Know what I mean?

If only you could actually feel the tension in my shoulders pre-weekend and post-weekend only then could you begin to understand how much I needed this weekend. This was our first weekend alone in two years.

TWO YEARS.

As I’m writing this it looks as if I’ve got about 3 hours of weekend left. I think I’ll just enjoy it.

BTW… the Hornitos tequila? Quite good.

Beer from El Salvador? Also quite good.

See ya tomorrow!

Amy's Musings Tales From An Anti-Soccer Mom  
May 5th, 2008