Blogger’s Block

I am at a loss for words. For the first time since September, I have no clue what to blog about. Well, there are several things I could blog about, but I really like to produce writing that my followers will find funny, compelling, or just plain interesting.

I could blog about the Cowboys as the hubby insists, but between you and me, the Cowboys and I only associate with each other become my husband insists.  And because they are breaking his heart this season, I am here to pick up the pieces.

I could blog about Darren, but it is not much fun writing about him when he is gone  (Missing the Little Man). Yep, I did forget to mention that because our daycare provider is out for the holidays, my little man is staying with the hubby’s mom for the next few days. We are supposed to pick him up at the end of the week, but predictably Minnesota weather is pulling out all the stops for the ninth winter storm of the season. The forecast is twenty inches plus freezing rain.

Ugh.

 But I promised I wouldn’t complain about the weather any more. (Winter Gripes)

I could blog (make fun of) about the hubby, but at this point he is getting on my last nerve. I wish I could blame my irritation on a specific situation, but after much thinking it just because he is a guy. Ladies you know what I mean.

I could blog about my family. I really want to blog about my family, but I refuse to hash out the ridiculous drama that seems to unfold whenever we get together on my public blog.

I could blog about my new camera (I heart it!), and how I am trying to start up my new photography business: ID Photography. This is something I am excited and completely overwhelmed with. I have been brainstorming on how to bring in clients to build my portfolio. So if you live in southern Minnesota give send me email at intuitiondesignid@gmail.com. I have free sessions available to all who are interested.

I know its shameless plug, but I need to get my hustle on.  Sue me.

No really, don’t.

Just let me take your photos.

Please.

And check out my Facebook page. I.D. Photography.

Another shameless plug. Sorry.

On that note I’ve decided to blog about my blog, which also has a Facebook page. The Hip Hop Life. Like it if you like my blog.

Another shameless plug. I have no shame. Shame on me.

This is what happens when I have blogger’s block. Shaking my head at myself. Shame on me.

Reality Birth Control

I love family. 

Anyone who really knows me knows I love family time and family always comes first.

But there are other reasons they are important.

They are my reality birth control. 

Before you get all confused let me explain. 

It’s become tradition that we end up spending the Christmas holiday with the hubby’s family and my foster family. No matter how long we are with them, whether it is two days or ten, we always come away with feeling relaxed but a bit skeptical about our roles as parents.

This is because of all the rascals we come into contact with.

Yes, I call them rascals. Because they are always up to something, being bad, pulling at your heart strings, or simply driving you bonkers. Let me spread the story of holiday cheer called children.

First there is Monkey Face. My foster parents first born daughter. Always perpetually in motion, by no means is this bad thing but she is the clumsiest child I know. If you have never seen a person trip on air, you need to meet this girl; she has mastered it.  At the age of five (I think J) she is also the most insightful child I know. 

Being a child she still slurps her juice for two minutes at the dinner table not noticing the noise is comparable to chalk screeching on a black board to an adult. But what took the cake was our conversation as we settled in the pew for the Christmas Eve service.

“Brittany, why is D**** not here?” She whispers this because she knows she’s not suppose to talk a lot in church.

“He had some other things planned for tonight.”

“But he needs to be here. Church is important,” she insists sternly.

I am at a loss for words. Not to throw the hubby under the bus, the child has a point. 

“I know sweetie. I will let him know you say so.” This seems to satisfy her because she gives me a firm nod, sits back and picks up her program.

Yeah. Completely floored.

Then there’s The Boss. Mr. Self Assured. The Boss is the hubby’s nephew. This boy has an older brother, but it’s definitely him that does the bullying in their relationship. He acts hard like a gangsta when he needs to and is caring, mischievous, ruff little boy when he doesn’t. I would repeat full convos of him threatening to punch someone in the neck if they didn’t leave him alone, but that would make him seem less than the angel he is.

The Boss’s softer side emerges when his cousin Darren is around and he insists on feeding him, wiping his nose, directing you on how to change his diaper, and most of all giving his little cuzo hugs when he cries.

But beware of boys they always have something up their sleeves. 

The Boss: “Hey Brittany.”

Me: “Yeah?”

The Boss: “You see all those presents under the tree?”

Me: “Yeah, there are a lot of them.”

The Boss rests his chin on my knee and looks up at me with big eyes and a cheesy smile. “I can open them for you!”  

At that point I had suppress my urge to laugh and tell him no, he could not open his presents before Christmas.

The stories don’t end there. I could fill your ears with stories of a boy who wouldn’t keep his clothes on, and another little girl who can switch the charm on an off, but that would take too long and I still have to talk about my little monster. 

Darren finally found something that made him master the art of crawling.

(Yep, you heard me. HE’S CRAWLING!! )

That things is a red remote control sports car operated by The Boss. 

If a crawling baby isn’t momentary birth control. I don’t know what is.

Busted: I’m a Nuk Sucker

“You know that is for the baby right?”

The Schwan’s man throws this causal comment my way as I prepare to put Darren down for the night at my parents place.

I don’t even have to turn to know what he is talking about. Pretty sure Darren’s nuk is residing in my mouth at the moment. And yes, I am casually sucking it as I flip the lights off.

How embarrassing.

The sad thing is it happens all the time. I mean, I suck on Darren’s nuk all the time, but strangers usually don’t see this habit.

My mom butts in and asks; “Didn’t you have two nuks?”

Now I am forced to admit that the second nuk is MIA. Probably lost in the all the juggling that went on when we brought Darren back from Milwaukee.

My dad only laughs and adds fuel to the fire.

“So you lost Darren’s and won’t share yours? Jeez.”

Pretty sure I am completely beet red under this caramel completion. But I just roll with it because it’s not the first or last time anyone will catch me sucking on the nuk.

In my defense I have my reasons.

First off, Darren’s nuk is in constant disappearance mode.

It would help if he actually cared about his nuk, but he doesn’t. In his mind it is a toy, a teething ring, and occasionally, a sleep activator. Other than that he could care less where it is. Meaning, he can have it in his mouth one second and the next it’s nowhere to be found because he casually dropped it.

To combat this I have gotten into the habit of just putting it in my own mouth. Weird, I know, but for someone who daily has frequent bouts of mommy brain, this is the safest spot for it. I’ve tried putting it in my pocket, that doesn’t work because it gets lost in couches and under car seats and everyone knows that what’s in my couches is not very sanitary.

Second off, it is a great mind motivator (not to mention stress reliever). You wouldn't believe how many times I am chewing on his nuk and writing a blog post at the same time.

So don’t credit these words to pure genius; it’s all in the nuk sucking. You should try it sometime.

Why I Won’t Vote This Year

I bet the title has you on edge already.

But, yes, I am not voting this year. My choice.

Say what you will, I have my reasons.

Reason one: I am a working mother with limited time. I don’t (like I imagine most working mothers) have time to research sixty different government offices, local and national, all of which have two or three candidates each.

Knowing this, a few weeks ago I thought I would start listening to the radio to try to catch some of the campaign ads. Big Mistake. All I can remember is the metalic taste I got in my mouth because of the all the bashing that was going on. The sad thing is that I know there were a few ads that talked about a candidate’s platform, but they drowned in the blood bath.

I could take all these bashing ads and try to make an informed decision, but that doesn’t seem logical. But it makes me wonder how many ‘informed voters’ do just this. And we wonder why we can’t stand the people who run our government.

Reason Two: I don’t align myself with any political party. I am a political mutt. So sue me. But please tell my when you’ve voted for a candidate that represented you values to the very T. I have never found that, knowing this, I started thinking about what I really wanted from my government.

I want them to solve our nation’s problems regardless of party lines. The more I think about it the more I’ve realized that politics is all about the power struggle (duh) and not about the solving the nation’s problems (double duh).  

Then I realized what I wanted would probably never happen. Never.

So why talk politics on a mommy blog? Because I am a mom, and every decision I make affects my family. So while their still trying to decide who should have more power in the Senate or the House of Representatives, I am going keep trying to raise my ethnic minded, but down to earth family. Again Political Correctness not necessary.

That’s why I am not voting.

(Let me know how you feel by leaving comment below.)

Sad Puppy

“I know what your blog should be today,” The hubby said this to me two days ago.

I turned from the door and gave him a confused look. “What do you mean?”

“Sad Puppy.”

I still was confused.

“Babe, that is the fifth time you’ve checked the door in a half an hour.”

I gave him a shamefaced smile. It was the truth.  I had been waiting for my mom to come so we could begin our road trip. Since about ten minutes after I got home from work, I had been ready to go. That was at twelve-fifteenish. She was supposed to be at our house at one. It was one-twenty-four.

Who’s the late one now Mommy? (just kidding.)

My eagerness is fueled by my need to be close to my son. I hadn’t seen him since Sunday before I went to work. Five days and one mental breakdown later, I was practically itching with withdrawal. As the hubby put it I was a “mental case.” In retrospect I was a walking mental case. Tears were always moments away, irritation level extremely high, and restlessness even higher. 

The fact that he called me a ‘sad puppy’ is a major understatement for what I had become.

So why did I put myself though sending Darren six hours away to spend time with the hubby’s family?

At first I wasn’t sure. But after fielding a half million ‘How will you do it?” questions from co-works, family and friends, and a million “I could never do it,” and one “Enjoy it while you can,” (Cindalicous) statements, I know why.

Growing up, I was never given the chance to really get to know my adopted father’s family. As a result, I barely know them and rarely see them. Now that Darren is back home with us and hearing how much fun he had with his cousins and aunts and uncles, it makes me regret not knowing them better.

When the topic of Darren going to visit for awhile (without mommy or daddy along) came up, I was completely against it. I actually did what I could to put it off for a while. It’s not that I didn’t want him to go see family, but I didn’t know how I would cope without my little man. The more the hubby talked to me about it, it became very evident that the visiting would happen. I agreed it should happen.

 That doesn’t mean I had to like it.

It means that family is a high priority for me. 

It has been, and always will be. 

It means that if I have to send my son six hours away for a week, it will happen. But be prepared for me to be a basket case. Actually, be prepared to deal with the emotional, hormonal, irrational lost woman in your presence. AKA: a mother. 

The Hubby felt the same lost feelings, but he was manlier about it.

“I miss my Lingle,” (His pet name for Darren, don’t ask). That’s all I heard from him, that and random bursts of laughter as he was reminded about some cute thing his little man would do.

But he made the same decision as me. 

It means family is a high priority for him.

It has been, and always will be.

“So how, often do you think you’d be able to let Darren go visit?” This comes from the hubby tonight.

“Babe, I just got him back, I am not even thinking about the next time he’s going.” 

He just laughs. I think he’s just relieved he doesn’t have to deal with me being a mental case anymore.

(Leave a comment and let me know what you would do in this situation. Thanks for reading!)

Missing the Little Man

My son is gone. 

Ok, I know that is dramatic and only part of the truth, but I am in a dramatic type of mood. Darren is actually visiting his grandma in Milwaukee. 

So he isn’t gone, but temporarily absent. Either way I have to deal with being just a wife for three more days, and who wants to do that?

Me, and not me. When I left for work yesterday I was proud of myself. I was teary-eyed, but no tears were shed. I made it through work without crying or excessive calling or texting. I gave myself a big pat on the back.

The dread set in on the drive home; twenty-five minutes to contemplate how I was going to spend a night (and the next several nights) alone with the hubby? So I tried to keep positive. He’s not that bad of a fellow to hang out with. He has a sense of humor, he a good, if sometimes frustrating, conversationalist, and when we go to sleep he doesn’t snore too loudly. 

So under my anxiety and worry I am looking forward to spending quality time with him.

That’s doesn’t explain why when I arrived home I couldn’t sum up the energy to go inside.

The dread I had been feeling had transformed in to quiet panic. What was it going to feel like walking into a house without my baby boy?  Whatever that feeling was I did not want to feel it. Nope, I would just have to sit here until I had to go to work in the morning. 

Then I got a picture text. My baby boy had officially arrived and he was smiling framed by a heart of rose. My jealousy spiked. Two seconds later I was bawling.

And that is how the hubby found me ten minutes later. 

“Why are you crying?”

“I’m fine.” Sniff.

“If it’s that bad we can go pick him up tomorrow.”

“No, that’s not the point.” I wipe my face. It really isn’t the point at all. Honestly, I do want Darren to have bonding time with his fraternal family.  I just don’t want to be six hours away when he does it. 

“You’re not going to be depressed like this all week are you?” The things men say that don’t make situations better.

“No, I’m fine.” I just need time to adjust. Please.

A little over twenty-four hours later I am partially adjusted. Thanks to some retail therapy in the form of a gift card; provided by the hubby (thank you very much) last week in anticipation of a possible meltdown on my part. He knows how to take my mind off of things.

Two days and a dozen hours until I see my little man again.

I can do this.

This is the picture his Uncle Rodney took today of him.  I so miss that face!