And finally I twist my heart round again, so that the bad is on the outside and the good is on the inside, and keep on trying to find a way of becoming what I would so like to be, and could be, if there weren't any other people living in the world.
Anne Frank 

Parents can only give good advice or put them on the right paths, but the final forming of a person's character lies in their own hands. Anne Frank 

Dear Customers; vol. 2

Even if I look like I'm with child, don't ask when my baby is due. It's just fuckin rude.

Dear Customer,

Mothers of small children,

If you take your two-year-old child to the store, and you spend three and a half hours there shopping for her teenage sister's school clothes, expecting that two-year-old NOT to have a meltdown is stupidity on YOUR part, not "naughtiness" on hers.

Age-appropriate

Almost daily I watch mothers punish their kids for not listening or throwing a fit or asking for toys, when they have clearly been kept at the store wayyyyy past their attention span. I don't know about you, but I don't take my kids anywhere (except for Grandma's house) if I know I'm going to be there more than half an hour. Every little kid breaks down around the 45-minute mark. Hurting her (can't believe how often I see this), telling her she's a naughty girl, taking away her new princess lunchbox, telling the fitting room attendant that your daughter is "out of control today"... these things are totally unnecessary if you understand her limits. (And don't apologize to me for your child's fit, especially if your fit - in reaction to his/her fit - is much more irritating. Your threatening and spanking your child in public is much more embarrassing than your daughter's age-appropriate meltdown.) Also, when you lie to me and say, "She needs to use the bathroom," I can still hear you spank her. You're not fooling anyone.

All I see when I look at you is this.

Oh, and while we're on the subject of toys... don't parade your children through the toy section first, then be surprised when they want to stay and play there. Common sense, people.

Men,

If I tell you the men's fitting room is this way, and the women's fitting room is that way, this means you cannot follow your girlfriend into the women's fitting room. Even if my back is turned and you think I won't notice. 

Picture from here.

While we're at it, let's talk about your habit of bringing me piles of balled-up jeans and inside-out shirts without their hangers. I'm not even allowed to go into your fitting room... leaving your hangers in the dressing room kinda makes it impossible for me to un-jumble the mess you hand me when you've decided you don't want a single one of the items you took in there. 

To the few men who know how to hang their pants properly on the hangers... I am seriously impressed by you. You have no idea how rare this skill is. (sidenote: I just tried to look up "how to properly hang men's pants", so I could share my knowledge with you all. First, I accidentally looked up "how to hand men's pants"... which went very wrong. Then I corrected my search term and still... nothing useful. Apparently the Internet doesn't even know how to hang pants on a hanger. The closest search result Google could give me was "pants on the ground." Not the same.)

Moving on. 

Teenage girls,

Do you have any idea how long it takes me to solve the mystery of which-hanger-goes-to-which-shirt when you hang all 35 of your slightly-different shirts on random hangers? Hanging a size medium tank top inside-out on an extra-large hanger leaves me with three times the work as if you hadn't hung them at all. (And could you please just explain to me why you are trying on 35 things and not buying a SINGLE ONE OF THEM? Is this a new hobby I didn't know about? I don't think I've tried on that many clothes in my lifetime.) 

Also, when you're back there with your friends, and you're talking about your strategy and how I'm going to react to it, I can hear every word you're saying. There's still no door between you and I, just as there was no door when you went in there. I understand how you may have forgotten, though, seeing as you've been in there for the last two hours. 

Everyone who shops retail,

I don't understand why you go around stores moving things to different departments. Is it a game? Do you earn points based on how many steps I have to take in order to return the dress you got from the North end of the store and deposited in the infants section on the South end?

And when I find a Strawberry Shortcake doll hidden underneath the shoe racks, did your three-year-old daughter do that because she thought it was funny? Or are you seriously a full-grown adult hiding things so you can buy them later? Just FYI, we can hold items with your name on them. No need to make me get on my hands and knees to dig it out from under the shelves. (Which I will do, which means they won't even be there when you come to retrieve them from your oh-so-clever hiding place.)


And lastly, to the mom who told her teenage daughter she had a "bubble butt",

No one who fits into a size 3 pair of jeans has a bubble butt. Do the kid a favor and let her go live with her dad before you damage her permanently (if you haven't already).

In 3 years, she'll look like this instead.

Where do you think eating disorders come from??

With love,
That girl who hangs up your clothes


*whew*  I feel a bit better. Until next time I boil over with frustration I'm forced to keep quiet about...

Please don't ask me if you look like a ho.

We all know I work in the fitting room at a clothing store. I spend 35 hours per week counting the items (and therefore noticing the items) people take in and out of the dressing room. You know how you feel like you need a friend to go with you, just in case your judgment is off about how you look in the new jeans? Well, I'm assuming you do, because almost EVERYone has an audience. The teenage girls tend to have mothers or fathers who demand that they come out and model each and every outfit, including bending over and checking that their ass doesn't hang out the back or their cleavage doesn't show too much. Occasionally there is an obnoxious teen who complains and argues with Mom or Dad about how tight the pants are, or how low the shirt is, but most of them just see it as a fact of life that they are not in charge of this decision.

Clearly I am not the type to keep my opinion to myself, which makes it difficult to stand there pretending not to be an unwelcome onlooker of their affair.

Then there's the fully-grown women who need their husband's approval for each purchase. It has seriously shocked me how common this is, and believe it or not, it's not because they are spending money - it's because they need to see if it makes their wife look like she's revealing too much of herself.

I know. It makes my skin crawl just thinking about it.

I'm not great at keeping my opinion to myself, but it's my job, so I almost always stay out of it. There have been two times I've been completely unwilling (unable?) to keep my mouth shut.

Scenario #1:

A pregnant girl with her Hispanic boyfriend, his mother and sisters. She has a very cute pregnant stomach, big because she's short, and clearly in her last trimester, but the rest of her is still perfectly-sized. She isn't even trying on maternity clothes; she fits just fine in the regular junior size dresses. That girl tried on fifteen different dresses, each time coming out to parade around in front of her boyfriend and ask his opinion.

Hopeful, she asks, "What do you think?" 
Every time, without fail, he stares her down with a look of distaste.
Not ONE WORD to her.

Several times I heard her sigh as she walked back into the dressing room, looking defeated.
At one point I even heard her say, "I feel like a cow," under her breath.

Now, I KNOW what huge looks like! (Proof below)

That's me, on the right - pregnant with the third child

 
I'm not unfamiliar with the feeling, or the appearance, of a gigantic pregnancy. Every girl feels like a cow, even if she looks adorable when she's carrying another person inside her at one point or another. But THIS GIRL LOOKED AWESOME.

She looked like this.

Finally, the boyfriend's mother spoke up.
"It's because you want it to be tight, right?" she asked him.
He just blushed and walked away, shaking his head.

So, apparently because she didn't look like this:

...she wasn't sexy to him. And as a result, she felt like she was hideous in every single beautiful, flattering dress she tried on. This is one of those times I spoke up and told the woman she looked incredible, even though it (of course) didn't do any good. She left with tears in her eyes, carrying nothing she could buy that would please her significant other. I'm not exaggerating when I say I didn't get over it for HOURS. I was livid the rest of my shift, and even after I went home.

Scenario #2:

Super cute girl who reminds me of the chick from 500 Days of Summer comes in with several dresses to try on. Creepy older guy is her audience, who at first I assumed was her father, but changed my mind as I saw how he reacted to her body.

First dress:

Same neckline, but she had even more popping out of it.

The dress was royal blue, absolutely beautiful, but my first impression was (no exaggeration), "Street-walker." It turns out she's shopping for a dress to wear to a wedding.

After quite a bit of discussion with Creepy Older Guy, she turns to me and catches me looking at her. She looks at me with a desperate look on her face, and says, "Honestly. Do I look like a whore in this?"

She ASKED me! Point-blank! It wasn't my fault.
What choice did I have??
It's against everything within me to deny this woman the truth.

"It's too much," I said, confirming her fear.

"Ok, thank you," she said genuinely.
Creepy Older Guy gaped at me, horrified at what I had done.

She left, after many other tries, with a dress like this one:

 ...which she looked completely incredible in. Even the guy agreed that it was sexy without going over the top. On her way out she said, "Thank you so much for your honesty. So many people say they'll be honest, but they can't do it. I really appreciate it."

I think we all know this could have ended in a very different way, involving a manager or two. But it was seriously refreshing coming across someone who truly appreciated the honesty I gave her, and boy did I avoid a catastrophe in that one!

I guess the moral of the story is Don't ask me if you look like a ho. I'll tell you that you do, if you do, in fact, look like a ho. It's my responsibility as part of the fashion industry to not let you walk around embarrassing yourself in front of your friends and family, and probably even your ex. Just don't do it. Sexy doesn't always mean showing your everything!

(And don't ask me my opinion. I could lose my job.)

In Honor

In honor of my latest project nearly being finished, I'm posting the soundtrack for What I Wish. 


Enjoy.

I'm a workin' girl

My Virtual Birthday List

Let's face it: I'm 26 years old (27  next week), have three kids, and I make minimum wage. We have rent and a car payment, two cell phones, Internet, and utility bills. There's just not enough money for things like birthdays. Ya'll know what I'm talking about. I don't need to explain to you!

So this year, I'm making a virtual birthday list... because when you can't do any real shopping, online "shopping" will just have to do.

Aubrey's Birthday Wishlist

Most of all, I want a replacement laptop screen for my laptop so I can write when I actually have little snipits of time here and there!
Amazon Kindle - because I love to read, and Husband doesn't share his.
As long as we're dreaming, let's just throw in an iPhone4 - even though Husband doesn't agree with iPhone, and it'll be years before I can upgrade my little wal-mart NOKIA brick phone.
Clothes. I would do anything for a shopping spree that would actually clothe my no-longer-size-7 body.
New pajamas...my favorite!
Makeup, because we all know that's always on my list.
Scrivener for Windows... if they would ever come out with that version!
A camera of my own, that would be pretty awesome
Earrings and necklaces, because I'm down to one necklace and one pair of earrings that Max hasn't broken or I haven't lost.
New socks... that seriously sounds amazing.
Music. I want lots of music that I like to listen to, on CD or mp3 or... something.
Fall is coming, and I'm starting to lust after boots.

Ok, this is just getting depressing. I've had enough fun!

Moving on... tonight we're having my birthday party at my mom's house. I have to share it with my niece Olivia (whose birthday was last week), and my sister Jenny (whose birthday is three days before mine). I don't mind sharing, though, they're pretty great girls, and I'm excited to see my family. I don't spend much time with them lately, because, well, all I do is work.

(Working full time sucks! How do you find time to do anything else??)

I wish I was sleeping

It's 2:30 am. As you can see, I'm awake. Tonight I fell asleep for two hours and now I'm wide awake, thinking about everything, as usual. This is a hideous cycle I go through, but it's worse this week because I am out of meds, so that means there's no Ambien for nights like this one.

Work tonight was extra stressful, with the DM rumored to be on his way and our store manager just getting back from vacation. There's the fun added factor of inventory coming up in two weeks... which, for a store like mine, is kind of scary. But that's not the best part. The best part was when Husband's phone quit working, so I got to walk home at 10 pm on my already-hurting feet.

Yes, yes, I know, this is turning into another whine fest! I'll turn it around, don't worry. :)

Do you know what I discovered on my walk home tonight? I LOVE where I live. I already knew that, because I grew up here, but tonight I remembered that I live in one of the safest places on planet Earth, where I don't have to be scared to walk alone in the dark. I remembered on my walk home all the great people I met here, all the friends' houses I used to hang out in, the giant trees I love, that line the street with shade because they are a hundred years old. I remembered that summer nights are amazing! It was still 80 degrees, so I took off my cardigan and just felt the warm breeze on my shoulders. How much we forget when we spend our life rushing around in a car!

I'm not trying to go all Henry David Thoreau, but seriously... life just doesn't feel like it used to, not only because we are older and jaded... but because we aren't walking through the neighborhood on a summer night. Because we don't go out to look at the stars anymore. Because we never have occasion to ride a bicycle just to ride.

 I wish I was sleeping (because tomorrow I am so going to pay for this), but in the quiet of tonight I feel like a renewed person. Maybe that's why my body likes to wake in the night... it seems to think more clearly than in the glaring light of day.

My favorite princess, and how she relates to my current predicament

Alright, so I've been waiting a long time for Disney to produce a princess I could really identify with. (I promise this post gets less shallow; stick with me.)

I'm getting sick to death of Tangled, as my son Max is obsessed with it (due to the fact that there's a horse named Maximus in it). But let's be honest, Rapunzel is definitely the best one. So here's why I'm talking about Disney Princesses. It actually doesn't have anything to do with Disney. Or princesses.

I've long had this crazy dream to be - what they call in "the business" - a Big Blogger. You know, the kind that has a huge following, tons of comments, and networking beyond my wildest dreams. This is mostly because my end-state fantasy is to become a published author, which is pretty unlikely with my lack of college education and how completely unknown I am, without a loyal readership already in place. 

Blog.

Ugly word, lots of possibilities. 

But most of all, Blog is the place where I can vent and express and rage and admire, all at once. 

Now, let's get this out of the way: I am immeasurably grateful for my readers, who are mostly my good friends and family. They seriously have kept me afloat through single motherhood, Army, separation, reconciliation, and everything in between.  I do not mean to sound like I don't have enough in those I already have! Of course I do. 

But when it comes to getting my voice out there, friends and family can only carry me so far. 

Rapunzel had this crazy dream, despite her sheltered upbringing, which overcame any previous belief or understanding she had. She knew there was something out there for her, and when she realized the only way to acquire it was to take the situation into her own two capable hands (and her hair whip, which is totally awesome btw), and take it for herself. She absolutely had to know whether the things she'd been told all her life were really, positively, absolutely true for HER. 

Unlikely weapon. Fear. Success.

Terrified, and with very few resources, she took the one weapon she possessed ("Frying pans! Who knew, right?") and took the literal leap into the unknown to see for herself. 

That's where Rapunzel and I relate. I have never taken a single leap of faith that didn't scare me to death. I'm not a fearless warrior woman, I am just a dreamer with a need to know. 

And remember this guy?

Hi. How ya doin'? The name's Flynn Rider.

She wasn't just being a little girl with a big crush, as we've seen before... 

So not inspiring.

this tends to breed stupidity, and I think most of us have had a few Ariel moments in our lives we're not quite as proud of... no, Rapunzel was all about a dream that happened to require the use of a charming, handsome man along the way. The fact that they fell in love... well, that was just a subplot. 

The point is, my dream is kind of stupid. About as lame as "I want to see the floating lights"... but it's what fills my little girly heart with butterflies and desire. 

But I want to be taken seriously. I don't want to be the wide-eyed girl with the .blogspot.com site. So I'm considering a move to a more professional Internet space. But it's big and unfamiliar and scary, and it will take a lot of time and effort... and some convincing with Husband to let me put a little bit of money into the endeavor. 

Wish me luck on my big jump (fall?). And if anyone has any tips or advice they can throw my way... I'll gladly take it. 

Fall.

For example... do you think facebook really is necessary to be a Big Blogger? 

Is twitter an essential part of being part of the blogging world? Or is a good blog with good content enough? 

Is it worth putting some money in to get a good-looking, serious site out of it?
Does advertising completely destroy your blogger integrity?

Some humor (or maybe truth?) on the subject: What Bloggers are Actually Saying

Feedback is appreciated. :) Love you all!

Introducing: Blogs I Love

I don't know if you've ever noticed, but just below the header and just above the content on this blog is where I keep some tabs of important stuff about me. 

Who Am I  
Explains a little bit of who I am for the folks who are new around here.

Family
Some pictures and explanation about my family, so you aren't too lost when I'm spouting off about the crazy boys I live with.

My Other Gig
Once Upon a Distraction, my writing blog.

Loves & Hates
A list of random things I enjoy and things I despise... plus a music player with some of my favorite music playing.

We're Still At It
Because some people are wondering why Husband and I got back together.

Words I Live By
Quotes that represent how I feel about life, or that have changed me in some significant way.

And the newest addition...

Blogs I Love! 
I've finally compiled a list of my favorite blogs to read, because I want to share them with the rest of you! Each and every one is worth reading, but pick a few you have time to check out and read up!

When boys blush

Not having a card reader is getting pretty old. I don't get to share my cute kids' first day of school pictures, or the cheesy picture Husband took of me in my work uniform. Blogs just aren't as fun without photographic proof!

Ah, well. I'll try to get my hands on a card reader this weekend so I can update these posts with pictures. I can't promise anything, though, because I work all weekend. (I work retail, what do you expect?)

But check this out... I like my job. No, really, I am enjoying it! Quite unexpected.
I like having an identity other than Mom. I like spending hours at a time with no one begging me for food.
I like the welcome home I get from my kids who actually had a chance to miss me while I was gone.

I certainly do NOT like that there's no time for my writing. My WIP has been abandoned again, suspended in time and space, which always makes me feel anxious and uncomfortable. Just a nagging little feeling in the back of my mind somewhere that isn't happy with me for the lack of progress.

Want to hear about my favorite part of my job? I'm the fitting room associate, which basically means I stand in a 3-foot-by-3-foot square, counting everyone's clothing and handing them a corresponding number card. (I have other (not)fun duties like telling people over and over, "I'm sorry, I can only let you take eight items in at a time" - this makes them very angry, and pushing the big red button to allow people access to the bathroom.) Anyway, back to my favorite part.

My favorite part of my job is each time a guy comes to try on clothes. They approach the fitting room area slowly, like they might set off a bomb.

I say, "How many?"

They glance down at their clothes like they have absolutely NO idea how many they might have picked up along the way, they say something like, "Two," and then I hand them their #2 card.

They immediately head in the wrong direction, toward the women's fitting room (because our store was built the opposite of the other stores in the area), so anxious to get it over with that they forgot to look at the sign.

I then say, "You're going to want to go that way, though," and point in the other direction, with what I hope is an understanding smile on my face.

EVERY SINGLE MALE blushes and apologizes like he's just walked in on me naked or something. Seriously, you'd think they got caught peeking into someone's window at night, the way they turn bright red and nervous. It's my very favorite part of my job. I think it's hilarious how universal it is. Any man, no matter his age, background, marital status, etc., reacts in exactly the same way. (Although, I'm not going to pretend that there's much diversity in my particular area of the U.S.)

The part I like less... every single female (who makes the same mistake) gets an annoyed look on her face, looks at me like, "Well I'm not the idiot who built it wrong," and snaps something at me like, "The other store is on that side."

It's like night and day, people! The reactions (and respect level for me, the lowly fitting room attendant) are absolute opposites.

Yep, this is just a random post about my new job. I hope you enjoyed it anyway! I'm off to make Asher some mac 'n' cheese before I have to get ready for work!

What's your favorite part about your job?

The Night Before Kindergarten

Last night we read The Night Before Kindergarten as our goodnight book. Do you know why?

Yep. Because Asher starts Kindergarten today.

The day Josh started Kindergarten, I cried the whole entire day while he was at school. (In Kansas it was full-day K.) I just sat there watching the clock, hoping it was time to go pick him up. I put baby Asher in the stroller and walked down to the school way before it was time to pick him up, and we just stood there and waited. The second day was similar.

I know I won't be doing that today, because a) I'm going with him - here in Utah they only have a one-hour meet-the-teacher on the first day; b) he went to preschool last year, so we already know what to expect; and c) he is so completely overjoyed, I have no choice but to be happy for him!

Still, though, it means that my little baby Asher is a big kid now.... and I'm never going to be used to my children growing up.

Last night I asked Joshua if he was nervous about his first day of third grade. He said, "I'm all the way excited, not even a little bit scared!"
He's so big I could just cry.
But I won't.
I'm pretty sure.

I'll post first day of school pictures, of course... it's time to go wake up the little monsters and get them all dressed up cute! Wish me luck! They'll be fine, but I'm going to be just a teeny, tiny bit emotional... again!

Also, remember how I got me a housewife? Well, I lost me a housewife. Husband went to his first day of the new job today. He looked all hot in his dress clothes, and a little bit nervous. Being a two-job family is definitely going to take some juggling that we're not used to! The income, though... well, we might actually have enough to pay our bills now! :) 

Quiet

So check this out: I am alone.

No, seriously. Not a single soul in this apartment but me.

ALONE alone.

My kids are at their grandma's house until tomorrow, and my husband is in Nevada with his friends.
So I have a completely empty apartment. Which used to freak me out... but today was the busiest shopping day of the year (for clothing), because apparently every single kid's mom decided to wait until tonight to buy their school clothes. Needless to say, I'm exhausted and my feet and back hurt. On the way home from work I seriously had butterflies in my stomach about going home to no one and nothing to talk to or worry about.

I could turn the radio up REALLY LOUD, 'cause no one is sleeping.
If I wanted to. Which I don't.
(How often do I get complete silence? I am so not going to ruin that.)

I could dance around in my new adorable pajamas I bought at work.
If I wanted to. Which I don't.
(Remember my feet? Ouch.)

I realized on the way home that I could stop at Red Box and rent ANY movie I wanted and watch it by myself in my favorite blanket that Husband reallllly hates.
If I wanted to. Which I don't.

Guess what I do want to do?

Yep. Sleep.
Every day at work I tell myself,
"Only three more hours 'till I can go home and write!"

Then guess what I do when I get home...
I sleep.

Tomorrow is my only day off for eight or nine more days, and then the kids start school Monday. Kindergarten for Asher, third grade for Josh. Boredom for Max. I would LOVE to take this opportunity to be all by myself and do something JUST FOR ME...

But honestly, I'm going to sleep.

'Night.




P.S. Hey, remember this? I can't believe how far I've come in a year! I'm pretty dang proud of myself, if you don't mind me saying so. :) 

SLUT

Sometimes I forget that there are people out there who will completely and totally misunderstand what I'm writing. How I forget this fact, I have no idea; I've been misunderstood by people my entire life. And yet, I still expect my thoughts to come across as they were intended.

As a teenager, the labels and judgments that were put upon me were hurtful.
They affected me, damaged me.
They even caused me to choose to live up(down) to them sometimes. If people are going to think that about me anyway, why should I try so hard to be better than what they think of me?

These days, the narrow-mindedness of people who label me just ends up making me laugh.

So this one's just for you, the readers who are too ignorant to understand a complicated mind. I do hope if I cause you that much distress, you will just choose to quit reading. After all... you wouldn't want to be associated with my kind of people anyway, being so righteous yourself, would you?

Judge all you want, but know that the fact that you think you know enough about me to put labels on me is just laughable, and that's exactly what I'm doing...
laughing at you.

I got me a housewife

A while back, my sister shared this piece with me, and I posted it over at Just-A-Detour (my private family blog - you only get an invitation if I've met you face-to-face and totally trust you). Anyway, here it is for reference, first of all:

 I Want a Wife, by Judy Brady Syfers (1970)
1- I belong to that classification of people known as wives. I am A Wife. And, not altogether incidentally, I am a mother.
2- Not too long ago a male friend of mine appeared on the scene fresh from a recent divorce. He had one child, who is, of course, with his ex-wife. He is looking for another wife. As I thought about him while I was ironing one evening, it suddenly occurred to me that 1, too, would like to have a wife. Why do I want a wife?
3- I would like to go back to school so that I can become economically independent, support myself, and, if need be, support those dependent upon me. I want a wife who will work and send me to school. And while I am going to school, I want a wife to take care of my children. I want a wife to keep track of the children's doctor and dentist appointments. And to keep track of mine, too. I want a wife to make sure my children eat properly and are kept clean. I want a wife who will wash the children's clothes and keep them mended. I want a wife who is a good nurturant attendant to my children, who arranges for their schooling, makes sure that they have an adequate social life with their peers, takes them to the park, the zoo, etc. I want a wife who takes care of the children when they are sick, a wife who arranges to be around when the children need special care, because, of course, I cannot miss classes at school. My wife must arrange to lose time at work and not lose the job. It may mean a small cut in my wife's income from time to time, but I guess I can tolerate that. Needless to say, my wife will arrange and pay for the care of the children while my wife is working.
4- I want a wife who will take care of my physical needs. I want a wife who will keep my house clean. A wife who will pick up after my children, a wife who will pick up after me. I want a wife who will keep my clothes clean, ironed, mended, replaced when need be, and who will see to it that my personal things are kept in their proper place so that I can find what I need the minute I need it. I want a wife who cooks the meals, a wife who is a good cook.  I want a wife who will plan the menus, do the necessary grocery shopping, prepare the meals, serve them pleasantly, and then do the cleaning up while I do my studying. I want a wife who will care for me when I am sick and sympathize with my pain and loss of time from school. I want a wife to go along when our family takes a vacation so that someone can continue to care for me and my children when I need a rest and change of scene.
5- I want a wife who will not bother me with rambling complaints about a wife's duties. But I want a wife who will listen to me when I feel the need to explain a rather difficult point I I have come across in my course studies. And I want a wife who will type my papers for me when I have written them.
6- I want a wife who will take care of the details of my social life. When my wife and I are invited out by my friends, I want a wife who will take care of the baby-sitting arrangements. When I meet people at school that I like and want to entertain, I want a wife who will have the house clean, will prepare a special meal, serve it to me and my friends, and not interrupt when I talk about things that interest me and my friends. I want a wife who will have arranged that the children are fed and ready for bed before my guests arrive so that the children do not bother us. I want a wife who takes care of the needs of my guests so that they feel comfortable, who makes sure that they have an ashtray, that they are passed the hors d'oeuvres, that they are offered a second helping of the food, that their wine glasses are replenished when necessary, that their coffee is served to them as they like it. And I want a wife who knows that sometimes I need a night out by myself.
7- I want a wife who is sensitive to my sexual needs, a wife who makes love passionately and eagerly when I feel like it, a wife who makes sure that I am satisfied. And, of course, I want a wife who will not demand sexual attention when I am not in the mood for it. I want a wife who assumes the complete responsibility for birth control, because I do not want more children. I want a wife who will remain sexually faithful to me so that I do not have to clutter up my intellectual life with jealousies. And I want a wife who understands that my sexual needs may entail more than strict adherence to monogamy. I must, after all, be able to relate to people as fully as possible.
8- If, by chance, I find another person more suitable as a wife than the wife I already have, I want the liberty to replace my present wife with another one. Naturally, I will expect a fresh, new life; my wife will take the children and be solely responsible for them so that I am left free.
9- When I am through with school and have a job, I want my wife to quit working and remain at home so that my wife can more fully and completely take care of a wife's duties. 
10- My God, who wouldn't want a wife?

This is a reasonable fantasy, right? As I spent the last (approx.) 8 years serving as a SaHM, I've thought about how amazing it would be to be on the other side of it all... go to work, come home to dinner, tell someone to wash my work clothes while I watch TV or something, claim my feet hurt too much to put the kids to bed...

Someone at my work got fired.
Someone else walked off the job, mid-shift.

And do you know what happened just two days before that?

I, clever girl that I am, left my boss a note. It read:

Bosswoman, (don't worry, I used her actual name)

My husband lost his job, so my availability is WIDE open.
Let me know if you have any hours you need filled; I'll take them!
Thanks, 

Aubrey Ortega

Good timing, right? The very next day the girl who works the fitting room didn't show up to work, so I was called in to replace her. Remember how I was complaining about having 4-10 hours per week?

Problem
Solved.

I was offered the fitting room position (35 hours a week), and I took it.
This has been a very, very, very long week.
It turns out I've completely forgotten what a full-time job felt like.


My feet are killing me.
My back hurts.
My fingers hurt (yes, I said fingers).
I never have time to eat, so I'm hungry all the time.
And I really, really miss my kids!


I come home from work, kick my shoes off, dramatically fall on the couch, straining to communicate the request for water. And you know what? It comes.

Last night I came home from work, feeling like I couldn't do another thing or I would surely die, and a miracle had occurred in the six hours I was gone.

The house was spotless.
The kitchen floor had been mopped.
The bathroom floor had been mopped!
Not a single toy in sight.

And you know what else?
He made me burritos.

Ladies and gentlemen, I got me a housewife, and it's awesome.
 

(As you can see, my new schedule has kinda cramped my blogging schedule... I promise I won't quit writing, though, ok?) 

So maybe you don't know me

I tend to assume that most people who read this blog know me well, so I say things like, "If you know me at all, you already know..." because so many of my good friends (and a few family members) read this blog.

But I'm also getting 25-30 visitors per day that I don't know (or don't realize I know, because they can't be identified - reveal yourselves!). Which means that many of you don't even know me at all.

Here's one thing you don't know: My name is not Aubrey Anne. Someone started calling me that (somewhere around seventh grade?) and it stuck. My name is, however, Aubrey. I have no middle name, wasn't given one (with the idea that I would use my maiden name as my middle name when I married).

So now you're up to speed for my story. Given name: Aubrey. 

As many of you may have noticed, Aubrey is not a very popular name. Growing up I never had another Aubrey in my classes until junior high, at which point there was one, and people always assumed they heard me say "Audrey" when I told them my name. I'm frequently called Amber, because for some reason people associate Aubrey and Amber very closely in their minds... but for the longest time, "My name is Aubrey" made people stop a second and say, "Well that's a pretty name! You don't hear that very often."  Very, very rarely I've run into someone who just starts singing, "...and Aubrey was her name...", which always makes me very happy.


(Sidenote: It's also fun when people find out I'm mildly obsessed with Audrey Hepburn. They say dumb things like, "Is that because she has your name?"   No, no it's not. Because, well, she doesn't have my name.)

If I do meet someone named Aubrey, they say, "Were you named after the song?"  I say yes, and they nod knowingly, adding something like, "'80's baby."  "Yep," I say. Almost exactly the same dialogue every time (which has happened about eight or ten times - total - in my lifetime).

Now that there's a new generation of children running around, and I'm at work often enough to encounter them, I've discovered that Aubrey has made a serious comeback. Today I took the risk of freaking my husband out and Googled Top Baby Names 2011 (you should have seen his face, lol! Poor guy).

I'm proud to announce to all those Aubreys out there.... We have made it into the top 100!  Number thirty-five, ladies (and a select few gentlemen - I did meet a male Aubrey, just once, in a grocery store. He hung his head like he was ashamed when I pointed to his name tag and said, "Hey, that's my name too." All he could manage to say was, "Yeah...").

Anyway, the point is that suddenly I am hearing mothers say, "Aubrey, come look at this," or, "Do you like this one, Aubrey?" while I'm working. If your name is Jennifer or Ashley or Jon or something of a similarly popular nature, you're not going to feel bad for me, but this is the first time in my life I've turned around repeatedly, mistakenly thinking that strangers are calling my name. How frustrating it must be to be a Steve or a Deborah! There's so many of you! At what point did you stop turning and making a fool of yourself by saying, "What?" or, "Well, I like the blue one..."?  Because apparently I still haven't learned that lesson yet. It still throws me completely off every time I hear my name intended for someone else.

Actually, now that I've wiki'd my name, I just found out that in 1980 there was a children's cartoon called "Aubrey". If anyone recognizes this show, I would seriously love to hear about it! The only thing I can find on YouTube is this video, which has a tiny little intro included in it:




By the way, did you ever have that fun conversation when you were kids, "What does your name mean?" Girls say things like, "My name means beautiful flower," or something sweet like that. I always avoided answering this question like it would spread the bubonic plague. (I don't know why I just linked to that one, I guess I'm in wiki-mode.)

Well, here it is. I admit it. My name means (and no, I am not kidding):

Ruler of the little people.

Elf ruler.

Ruler of the elves.

Blond ruler. 

That's right. I was meant to be short and blond! And, apparently, to lead the other small, blond people.
Whatever that means.

I am, thankfully, short.  (And, as a child, I was naturally blond.)

See?

For those of you who have never had the good fortune to hear my song, this is for you...

Insomniac

If you're a writer, you'll understand why I say that sometimes insomnia is a blessing.

Here it is, 3 am, and I've been wide awake since one. If there's anything I hate more than not getting enough sleep, I haven't come across it yet. Despite my love of sleep, and my ambien prescription, I have found myself awake for hours at a time the last couple of nights.

But I'm not complaining. Because I know I'll be unbearably tired tomorrow, but tonight I am writing.
Tonight I am writing pages and pages and pages, something I haven't accomplished in years.
Tonight I am finally making real progress on my WiP, and I am doing it in peace. The only sound I can hear is Husband rhythmically snoring in the bedroom (this is a very tiny apartment).

Hi. My name is Aubrey. I am an insomniac, and I am blissfully happy. 

Toothbrush mystery

You know how your dryer steals your socks? Just one, leaving the other one a lone ranger?

At my house, it's isn't the dryer who is a thief.
And it isn't everybody's left socks that are disappearing.

The Unidentified thief is stealing our toothbrushes.
No, I am not kidding. What, you think I'm that desperate for jokes? Someone is literally making our toothbrushes disappear.

Recently my kids attended a family camp out in my sister's backyard. I sent them with their ratty old toothbrushes - the only ones I could locate at the time - and she mentioned later that it was time for new ones at my house. I joked about not having enough money (oh, how I wish I was joking) to buy new toothbrushes, the toothbrushes we had would just have to do. (I failed to mention the brush-napper.) A couple days later she showed up at my front door with a pack of new Snoopy toothbrushes, which my kids were excited about.

This is probably the third set of Snoopy toothbrushes that has found a home on my bathroom counter, and then has promptly disappeared.

Of course this isn't actually a mystery.
Max is obsessed with brushing his teeth, and frequently sneaks into the bathroom to get a fix of AquaFresh. What I can't understand is WHERE HE IS HIDING HIS STASH!

I swear I have hunted.
And still, my older boys are coming to me with claims of "But I can't find my toothbrush!" every.single.night. To say it is getting old would be a serious understatement.

(Just to be clear, no one needs to anonymously drop off a hygiene care package at my house. Really. And I promise I won't let their teeth fall out.)

While we're on the subject of Stitch, the boy has been rebelling against sleep lately. Each time he is deposited in his bed, he immediately throws all his blankets and pillows out of his crib and then cries because they are gone. "Mom! MOM! No, Mom! Pillow! Bwanket! More!"  Tonight Husband went in to quiet the children, and when he said, "Max, you dropped your pillow," Max said, "Oops!" like it was an accident.

Hooray for yet another manipulator in the house.  

Tiny cheerleader

Remember how my kids are monsters? Well, I'm not gonna lie to you, they are also angels sometimes.

This morning I started the new daily schedule. (If I had a camera, I'd show you the giant poster I made with every half hour mapped out.. but I don't, so you'll have to wait.)

Whether I liked it or not, this was on my schedule:
7:30 - Work Out

So there I was, pulling out the "Ab Ripper X" DVD for the first time in... well, I don't want to talk about how long, and Asher (5-yr-old) suddenly got really interested in what I was doing. He saw that I was going to be working out, and he said, "Mom, I know you're going to do a great job!" (Asher's the one in the picture with me at the top of this blog.)

How's that for encouragement?

Nice! I thought, and I started the video. After the first couple of exercises, I was already sweating and breathing hard. His poor little face was horrified. So do you know what he did? He ran out of the room, calling behind him, "I'm gonna go get you a drink, Mom!"

He came back with a big cup of almond milk (not exactly refreshing, but super sweet of him, lol), and I pretended to love it. Every few minutes, upon seeing me struggle to achieve a simple exercise - like my third crunch, for example - he brought me my almond milk and said, "There. Is that all better, Mom?"

When the video was finished, Asher said, "Good job, Mom! Let's do it again!"
(Um, no.)
"You did a great job!"

I could definitely do this every day with a little cheerleader like that in my corner.







(Ok, ok, I feel bad for calling them little monsters... but, in my defense, Max did spend half the video trying to sit on me and demanding that I read him How Do Dinosaurs Go to School, and he seriously punched me in the face when I said no...)

Rock-a-bye, Baby

Some days being a mom is the most amazing thing. You wake up to little smiling faces who look like you, your heart is just overflowing with love for them, and you know you couldn't be luckier.

And then there's some days.

Today was one of the latter type. You know the ones... where you wake up to three needy faces who forgot to brush their teeth last night, and they're breathing on you.

How can they have so many requests already? They JUST woke up!
No! Don't bite your brother!
No, you cannot play Nintendo at 6 am!

I always tell people that having all three kids of the same gender is awesome because they can be friends and keep each other entertained with the little games they make up together... Well, I take it back, damnit. Apparently that only lasts until one of them turns seven, because they do nothing but fight with each other now.

Oh, and the sweet little brother? Doesn't exist.

He's now a fire-breathing dragon who makes Stitch seem domesticated. (yeah, this guy:)

With only three months until he turns two, our home and our nerves are taking serious damage.

When attending social events, I frequently tell people that my babies are monsters who spend their first year of life screaming and puking and never, ever sleeping. Why do they always laugh? I'm not telling a joke. They should be crying for me! My children aren't tolerable until at least age three, when they finally start sleeping through the night and stop beating me to a bloody pulp.

{{If you're thinking that my parenting is probably to blame, here's what you should do: have a couple more kids, wait until they're at least five before judging, and then get back to me. I find the judgmental ones are always people who A) haven't had kids, B) only have one kid, who is currently about six months old, or C) have babysat a lot and think it's the same thing. Allow me to take this opportunity to vent about that... Seriously, people, if you sent the children home at 6pm, it is NOT the same as the never-ending, night-and-day, hair-pulling nightmare that is motherhood. Now, this is where I usually piss people off. There's always the few who haven't been able to conceive or adopt children who are offended by the way I speak, so let me be clear: I am in no way accusing the childless of being lesser than me... I am simply asking those who aren't in my shoes to avoid judging me.}}

Back to the point. My children are stubborn, violent little creatures who cry their entire first year, abuse me the second, and question authority all the years after that.

Today was one of those days when, by bedtime, I am recklessly throwing around obscene threats I swore I'd never use, i.e.

"...lock you in a tower..."

"...I swear I will eat you..."

"...you will go to your bed for the rest of the week!"

etc., etc., etc.

Tonight I praise the Lord for Ambien and television, and the beautiful silence of sleeping children.




...for now. 

Down for the count

We're down at my house.

Just a few too many things going wrong lately.
Not quite enough going right.

Remember that job I got?
Yeah, "12-24 hours per week" was a gross exaggeration.
This week I am scheduled a grand total of 4 hours.
(For those of you who are confused, that is definitely not going to pay rent.)

Husband is still looking for a job.
So is the rest of the country (hell, the rest of the world), so you can guess how well that is going.

Yesterday I literally lit Husband's arm on fire while trying to cook dinner.

I'm not going to get into everything that's got me down at the moment. I'm just sick of everything feeling so off-balance. I feel like something tipped Earth a little on its side and everything is just holding on for dear life.

Thankfully, I have gorgeous children and a husband who has seriously turned into a sweetheart lately. (But don't tell anyone. He much prefers to be a badass.)  Thanks to those two things, I'll probably turn out just fine in the end.

Alligator... CHOMP!

Who wants to comment and tell me something you're feeling grateful for? I'm in need of one or two happy thoughts to borrow. ;)