Monday, February 10, 2014
I'm in need of lip stapling surgery ASAP.
I have found more and more that my particular type of sharing has no place in our modern world.
If you've ever read this blog before then you know that I LOVE to share. I am an information hog, I can't get enough of it. I read user manuals for fun and pause the tv to make sure I didn't miss any of the side effects that scroll down the screen during prescription medication commercials for medicines I will never need or use. Once I have this information it needs an outlet. This is where the sharing happens. I assume the rest of the world can put on their big girl/boy pants and choose to take it or leave it.
This is apparently not the case.
I have lost friends because they think I'm trying to fix them or their kids. I'm fine with them and their kids, that's why we're friends. But... When they complain or share concerns I will share 15 possible solutions that I can think of off the top of my head. You know, just in case it's helpful. I'm not saying I have it all together. I google my problems for hours and even a casual glance my way generally offers such a state of dishevelment that one should assume I am only sharing information and obviously not coming from a place of judging or teaching.
I have taken on way too many tasks because in the workplace (and at home), ideas are closely guarded treasures that you only share if you are willing to take on sole responsibility for the rest of your life and name someone to take over for you in your will if you should pass away. I came back into the workplace not understanding this and mistakenly loudly shared every single thing that ever came into my head (note to self, forehead edit button needed. Directions: to be used hourly until problem clears up) My ideas were welcomed, encouraged, sought after and my to do list was longer than santas naughty/nice list. Heaven forbid I share a concern. Then I enter the gossip gauntlet where someone must be blamed to regain balance in the world and if you won't point a finger than you'll be the one going down.
I left a situation today thinking, "oh what a tangled web we weave..." And trying my darnedest to figure out how I got into the situation. As I walked away I then had long conversations with everyone I came into contact with because what better way to cure saying too much than to talk endlessly with anyone who dares to allow you to corner them and engage in daily niceties. It was really my bad for being honest. If I had just made empty promises the situation never would have happened.
I am slowly learning my lesson but I am a little saddened by it. Why does my idea mean I have to do it? Why can't some problems require brainstorming when pointed out instead of blame? Why doesn't everyone think I am as brilliant as I think I am? Why do people ask me about things that I know nothing about? Why do I feel compelled to find the answers for them? How do I encourage my children to love the acquisition of knowledge without creating mini me's?
For now I think I'll look into lip stapling, because self-restraint is too simple of a solution.
P.s. Don't mind me, I'm having an off day so writing this helped get it off my chest. I doubt I could ever stop sharing, it's innate. Take me or leave me, this is who I am.
Thursday, February 6, 2014
I love the way you smile.
The fact that you smile bigger after you poop then when I walk into the room is something we'll work on.
I love the way you snuggle into the space between my shoulder and my neck.
Can't wait until the day where you do it more because you love me and less because you're scared of trees.
I love your chubby rosy cheeks.
I pray it doesn't mean that I'm making you fat and somehow participating in the childhood obesity trend. (you know us moms, we worry)
I love your sweet coos and your desire to take part in conversations.
I wish you could maybe sit a few conversations out or at least stop participating at such a high decibel, I promise we hear you even when you're very quiet.
I love the way you rub your eyes when you get tired.
It's really too bad that it makes me feel a little like a bad parent every single time because I once read that babies that rub their eyes are overtired and parents missed vital cues.
I love that I'm your favorite.
But there are days when I pray to God that you please please please learn to like someone else.
I love watching you discover new things.
I wish all those new things didn't immediately go into your mouth.
I love dressing you and admiring your insane levels of cuteness.
It makes me cringe a little when I catch sight of us in the mirror and realize that I subconsciously made us match. I never wanted to be THAT parent.
I love watching you bond with your siblings.
I keep hoping it will happen more when mommy needs a nap and less when mommy asks siblings to do chores.
I love your curiosity.
Also, it scares the hell of me.
I love watching you sleep.
I can't wait til I start to have a clue when that will be.
I love watching you grow and change.
I hate how often I check the development guidelines to see if your "on track." I also hate being a walking cliche as I go around saying, she's growing too fast, where's my baby?" Bipolar much?
I love your baby smell.
Your diaper smell, not so much.
I love watching you with your daddy.
I secretly worry that you'll like him more than me.
I love your perfect little hands.
I don't understand how they are always dirty.
I love your blossoming personality.
I hope I'll still like you when you're a teenager.
Most of all baby, I love you.
Except that one time you screamed for 4 hours straight, then I considered adoption.