PTVO (Post Traumatic Volunteer Overload) and bathroom remodeling hell.

Sorry I have been remiss in writing. I was suffering from PTVO - Post Traumatic Volunteer Overload and bathroom remodeling hell(I'll get into that later). I'm sure many of you reading this have experienced it. Especially when your kids go to different schools. It's all well and good in the beginning of the school year. You are refreshed from the summer break. You have all the best intentions.  You want to help.You sign up for this committee and that board etc. etc... It seems harmless. You can handle it. After all, we have so much free time right?! (ha-ha) It was somewhat manageable up until the kids got back from winter vacation- then the floodgates burst. Two fundraising gala/auctions on back to back Saturdays. If you attend these auctions, but are not involved in the planning, you have no earthly idea how much work is involved to pull off one of these events. It takes an army of Moms working for months-each assigned to a specific duty- to have it run smoothly. One of my schools has it down pat. It is still a tremendous amount of work, but these women are like a well oiled machine.  The same group has run it for years. The other group, though well intentioned, was filled with mostly first time volunteers and not very many of them at that. When that happens, hours upon hours are eaten up batting around idea after idea. Disagreements are common place and I always take it upon myself to be a buffer in between clashing personalities. It is exhausting. My blood pressure probably went up about 30 points. The good thing is, in the end, both auctions raised well over a hundred thousand dollars and I lost 20 pounds. Stress does have its virtues.
    Now onto to my never ending bathroom remodel. I ended up having to gut my 1980's style master bathroom due to a huge leak. I thought, it shouldn't take long- it's just a bathroom. Wrong. I haven't had a master bathroom for going on 4 months! Now I know why people hire contractors. Just getting people to show up for work is a job unto itself! My plumber comes for literally 8 minutes at a time to do one little thing- then he is off to another job-never completing mine. He totally overbooks himself. I can't withhold payment, because he doesn't even want it until the job is complete, which at this rate, might be in early 2015! He is what I like to call an Eeyore. You know the sad sack donkey from the Winnie The Pooh stories.  His attitude is pitiful. He is nice, but at a certain point you dread speaking with him because you don't want to hear anymore complaints about how bad his life is. His unhappiness is exactly why my bleeding heart can't fire him. Finally, as he was nearing the end of months of plumbing work that someone else would have finished in a couple of days- he fell in a hole on another job and  broke his leg. Thus, I am still bathing in my kids bathroom with a duck faucet cover. Painting the damn room is another horror story. I hired someone to paint the room at 130 dollars a day. I thought, at most it would take 2 days- the walls were already patched and mostly sanded. Well, on day 5 -he was still not done! Only one coat was on  and the toilet closet only had primer on it. You probably already know this-Never pay someone by the day. I learned my lesson the hard way. I fired him, but now I'm 650 in and my bathroom is still not done being painted. I feel like an over trusting idiot. At this point, I probably could have gone to trade school and learned how to be a handy-woman and done all this crap myself, but I don't have the time, I'm too busy volunteering at school.

 

O Christmas Tree.

I still have my artificial Christmas tree up.  I know it's January 15th,  judge away. Let's face it,  there is no joy in taking down the tree. Nobody is sipping hot chocolate while listening to the Bing Crosby holiday cd. Before the tree goes up everyone giddily clammers around to help put up the decorations-now my whole family is conveniently too busy, including me. I have to find places for all the new toys and games the kids got as gifts. They are now laying around the house in assorted and sometimes odd places. I found a nerf gun behind the toilet in the bathroom.  I found the beans from Don't Spill The Beans in a coffee cup in the pantry. I opened the coat closet and the Words With Friends board game fell on my head. We are literally overflowing with stuff. On top of that, we discovered a major leak in our master shower that has now caused a domino effect. As I type there are two men above me demolishing our whole master bathroom. Now I have to deal with constant pounding and a coat of dust sprinkled over everything I own for the next few weeks or in contractor time, months. On the upside when I had to empty out our bathroom, I found 97 beauty supplies that I didn't remember I had. Does hair moose go bad?

  So back to the tree. I did take off all the decorations. I didn't want people to drive by, see the lights and shake their heads in disgust of my inability to make time to do the most un-wonderful job of the season. Happy January.

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year!

Shocking, I know, but one of my new year resolutions is to lose weight...again. My very spiritual friend told me I should not call them resolutions but instead I should set intentions. She said that new intentions allow for the setting of attainable and measurable goals for the mind and body. Okay, I'm not really that new age but it makes sense to me. Here are my intentions for 2014:
(Starting Jan. 5th-because I have too many yummy dinners lined up that I don't want to miss out on.)

1.  I intend to go to Weight Watchers (again) and not skip a  meeting because I had a 22 point cinnamon roll that day for breakfast. (For those of you not familiar with ww you generally get 26 points for the entire day.)

2.  I intend to exercice at least 3 times a week. (Even when the sudden overwhelming desire to nap overcomes me as soon as I put on my sneakers.)

3.  I intend to clean out my closet and throw out all the clothes that do not fit. (Lets face it, I'm never gonna fit into those size 6 red & gold pegged tuxedo pants and even if I did, the 8o's fashion trend has come and gone.)

4.  I intend not to go on Web MD and search all of my aches and pains. (Which in turn will cause me to assume I have cancer, which will then cause me to eat a pan of brownies, because who cares I'm going to die soon anyway.) 

5.  I intend to go to bed by 11:30pm at the latest. (Even when I am binge watching Game of Thrones or Orange Is The New Black and I just want to watch one more episode.)

My wish for all of you is to have a year filled with good health, laughter and an occasional cupcake.

Truth - kid style.

A recent exchange between myself and a third grade boy in my theatre class. "Ms. Winston did you get a hair cut?"  I replied, happy that someone had noticed, "Yes, I did." His response, "Oh, I wasn't sure, it kinda looks like you bought some bangs and glued them on."  Let's face it, kids speak the truth, like it or not. They haven't developed that social filter yet. The one that causes you to bite your tongue when a fair-skinned person asks if you like her mustard-colored sweater. The real answer is "No, you look washed out - actually a little sick." But we have been conditioned to say, "You look lovely." She already bought the sweater- she's out in public. No need to make her feel bad about something that's too late to change. Children on the other hand, say it like it is. I have had quite a few zingers- the majority from my own little ones. Here are a few:

"Mom, that lady is the same age as you. Why doesn't she have big bags under her eyes like you do?"

"Mommy, I like when I hug you - you are so soft and squishy."

"Why is part of your hair brown and the rest blonde?"

"Do other people lose their car keys everyday?"

"Will I have lots of wrinkles like you when I grow up?"

"Mom, you need to wear a bra - even in your nightgown. It looks gross."

That is just a smattering, I could go on and on. I'm sure you've been on the receiving end of such truths. Let me know if you have any great ones to add.

I remember on the morning of my Daddy's 50th birthday. I went up to him crying. When he asked me what was wrong. I said, "You're 50. That's so old. Now you're going to die!"

Payback is a bitch my friends.

Some Holiday Advice

Ahhh...the holidays!  I love this time of year.  That being said, I'm not thrilled about all the rude, impatient, stressed out people we will encounter during the madness and pressure of creating the "perfect" holiday.  It all begins on Black Friday.  People literally stampeding each other to save 20 dollars on a video game.  Parents cutting in line with their children to visit Santa.  The parking space stealers.  The list goes on and on.
I now hold my tongue when it comes to confronting all the hanging-by-a-thread lunatics lurking about.  I learned my lesson nine years ago - the day before I gave birth to my daughter Georgia.  It started out simply.  I went to see an 11am matinee of "The Incredibles" at the Sherman Oaks Galleria with my husband Matt, our three year old son Rowan, our friend George and his 10 year old boy.  We loved the movie.  The credits started rolling, the lights went up in the theatre and everyone started to exit.  Matt, being the ever-thoughtful guy, was hunched over, scooping up all the popcorn and candy that had missed our son's mouth and landed on the sticky floor.  George, his son and I stood up and started recounting our favorite parts of the movie as we were waiting for Matt to finish - when I heard from the stadium seats two rows above us, "Move or sit the f*ck down!" I maneuvered my very large, ready-to-burst belly around to see three 20-something guys - one that looked like Biff from "Back to the Future" - sprawled out with their feet on the seats in front of them.  I was disgusted.  "Really?  Are you kidding me?  You're going to talk that way to a pregnant woman with small children?" To which he sneered, "Yes I am. Sit the f*ck down."  Now I was enraged.  "You're a piece of garbage!  And why don't you take your dirty feet off the seats!"  Then he hurled another "f*ck you" my way.  During this brief exchange Matt was still obliviously cleaning up and looking for one of Rowan's toys.  My friend George heard it all though and his Lebanese temper quickly boiled over.   He started shaking all of our nearly empty soda cups to see which one was fullest.  When he found the one, he tossed the contents up at the guy and yelled, "You need to cool down buddy!"  Almost instantly the Biff-looking character jumped down two rows and landed on top of George, fists flying.  I screamed "Help!" like a woman in a 1970's disaster movie and pulled the kids out of the fray.  Matt finally saw what was going on, jumped on the guy who was punching George and put him in a choke hold.  The guy started to go limp and Matt shouted "It's over! It's OVER!!"  It looked like a WWE match only it was real.  I peered up, still screeching, praying the other two guys wouldn't join in.  Luckily they didn't.
Finally two dorky movie security guards arrived after everything had started to calm down and we were all escorted from the theatre, despite my protestations of innocence.  After saying goodbye to George and his son, we silently waited for the valet to bring our minivan up.  When we got  in the car, Matt said, "You know, you caused this.  You need to learn to keep your mouth shut with a$%holes like that.  You don't know what someone's gonna do." As much as I wanted to disagree - I knew he was right.  You can't get in arguments with strangers.  You never know what kind of crazy you're dealing with.  So this holiday season (or anytime really) when a stranger says something rude, cuts you off in traffic or takes the last doorbuster sale item from your hands and you want to respond remember "The Incredibles" take a breath and move on.

rats

Last weekend I went down to our little sub-basement storage space, only to discover rodents had decided to take over. There was shredded Christmas and Hanukkah paper all over the place(apparently they are interfaith just like us), the insulation had been ripped out of the wall and there were more "pellets" than you can imagine. Lets just say... these rats are regular. I slammed the door shut and screamed for my husband.  We had a big job ahead of us. I jumped in the car and quickly sped to Home Depot to procure the items we would need to begin the war. Gloves, masks, bleach and traps- lots of them. My brave husband did all the really hard work-he was down in the trenches for hours pulling out all the long forgotten random stuff we had stored in there. I took what could be salvaged out to the driveway and wiped it down with every antibacterial product known to man. It truly felt like an episode of Hoarders- especially when we discovered Matt's old Intellivison with all the games. (at least there were no dried out flattened cats or used depends- so I guess we aren't that bad)
  I took this infestation as a sign that not only did I need to clean out the clutter, but I needed to address the grief over losing both of my wonderful amazing parents last year. It has been trying to surface a lot lately and I just push it down into the storage space of my heart. I'll deal with it later-I've got to make breakfast, pack lunches, plan dinner, go grocery shopping, do laundry, get the kids to school, soccer practice, play rehearsal, art class, music lessons and hundreds of other things.  It is hard as a mother of two young children to take the time needed to grieve. Just like the rats found a home in the stuff packed away in the basement- grief has a way of working itself into other areas of your life if you don't face it. Losing your parents is life changing-you become a different person. I'm no longer someones daughter- that is painful. I think I'm going to go to a grief support group. If I put grieving into my schedule-perhaps the rats will go away.

lunch

Hi Friends. Forgive me. It has been a couple of weeks since I last blogged.  If you could see me, I would be crossing myself and asking how many "Hail Marys" I need to say.  I'm not Catholic - but I feel a tremendous amount of guilt for my procrastination.  So, I figured it can't hurt, right?  I have just been so busy eating my kids' Halloween candy that I haven't had time to write. Sugar comas are not conducive to anything other than preparing to be a contestant on The Biggest Loser.

I had a weird day yesterday. I went to my local El Pollo Loco for a pollo bowl with no pollo or cilantro (I hate that stuff- it tastes like perfume). I was in line behind a nicely dressed, mid-30's man who was texting on his iPhone- I point this out because that is why I noticed his very long well groomed fingernails. Long fingernails on a man are just nasty (unless you are a drag queen- then you get a pass). This man was not a drag queen.  In fact, other than his nails, he was macho in a kind of intimidating way. He had a shaved head with a large (old) scar on the back of it. Just as I was taking in this dude's strangeness, another guy got in line behind me. He was fairly large and had clearly been in a recent fight. I could tell this because he had a cut on his nose that was just starting to scab over and a faint black eye. The cast of characters around me was starting to make me feel as though I had stumbled into a Quentin Tarantino movie. A minute or so passed - it was a busy lunch hour. A small man in construction clothes came up and casually asked (in broken English) if we were in line. The man behind me replied with extreme venom "No, we are just standing here for fun you dumb f*ck!!"  At this point, I was looking for the nearest exit realizing why the man behind me had his wounds. He was obviously always looking for a fight. Luckily, the little man did not challenge this ball of anger and silently went to the back of the line. I could almost feel the heat of rage bouncing off this man and onto my back. I thought to myself "I should just leave - what if this man has a gun and the cashier tells him they are out of sour cream or the man with the long nails accidentally brushes up against him and scratches him with his talons." But I was hungry. So, I stayed against my better judgement. My stomach is clearly stronger (and bigger) than my brain. Nothing ended up happening, but, thinking back, I should have listened to my fear and left. A rice and bean bowl is not worth putting myself in danger. I do have to admit it tasted pretty darn good when I ate it though. I think adrenaline makes things taste better than they actually are.