Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Not again.

As I was running on a treadmill at my "new" gym today, I happen to glance up from the timer on the machine (where I usually STARE, hoping the time will suddenly jump from 25mins to 5mins) and focus directly on the flat screen in front of me that was tuned to CNN. I like news. I like to generally keep up with what is going on because I think it is important. I mean, yes. Jesse James is an asshole and all but there are pretty substantial things going on in this world that are a teeny bit more important. Just then, I saw it. Another teen had committed suicide from the effects of school bullying. Gah. My heart started aching, my stomach dropped. And then it happened. That feeling. The one I felt sososo many times before: anxiety. The racing heart, butterflies, sweaty palms, name it. It was there. It all started coming back like a bad movie montage. My adolesence. My experiences.

For some reason, and I don't know if it has to do with technology or what, there has been a lot more attention being focused on school bullying. First the girl and the whole Myspace ordeal. Now this. Of course, there have been way more in between there that have fallen through the media cracks. There have been TONS before then. And there will be more.

I know what you are thinking: get over it, Tiff. Everyone is bullied at one point or another, and it usually sticks with you, causing some irreputible damage. Yes. To some extent, I agree. On the other hand, I would be willing to challenge the majority that what I dealt with was a little more serious. I won't go into tremendous detail about what was done and said to me during mostly 2 years of middle school because I would run out of space. But that's it. TWO YEARS. That is all it took to change me forever. I hated school. I hated social functions. I got through it though- which is more than Phoebe Prince will never get to say. I think I grew from it. I also think there was some damage done that can never be un-done. Damage that causes many issues in my adult life.

You see, I second-guess everyone. I look extremely deep into people's words. Are they taking a jab at me? Is this person's intentions not right? Are they trying to hurt me? I twist words around to make sure that people are doing these things. These horrible things. I don't trust people. This is what I was taught at a very crucial age. The majority of people cannot be trusted. Everyone is out to get me.

Sound's crazy, right? It is. Of course therapy has helped me calm this anxiety. These thoughts. But they still linger. Unfortunately, when you are that special age (somewhere around puberty/middle school/beginnings of high school) and you are becoming the beginnings of an adult, taking in everything, learning about relationships...this is when this shit happens. A lot of adults look at it and say, "Oh, they're just kids. It will make them stronger". Yes, maybe. Eventually. If they make it that long.

I think what frustrates me the most is that nobody tries to do anything. They think they are, but they obviously just aren't doing enough. My mom went to school authorities many times. Tried to make something happen. Of course, my bully was the daughter of a teacher, so you must know how that would play out. Little things happened here and there, and I commend my school district for trying a little. It didn't change anything. Not until it was almost time to move to high school. The clique started dissolving. People started maturing, but that does not mean that it didn't continue on some level.

I guess I could go on and on and if you have stuck with me this long, I thank you. Most of the time, this has to do with jealousy. These girls (mostly) are jealous of someone and just ruthlessly go after them. If you know someone going through this, or if you are a teacher, please TRY to do something. Waiting it out is not the answer. It may be okay, but as in Phoebe Prince's story, it wasn't. Here is a great article to read if you have time. If not, just keep your eyes open and if you see or hear of something going on, try to help.

I promise I will try to be more funny in my next post, but that story really got to me this morning and there has to be something I can do to help. I figured maybe this was a good place to start!

Friday, March 26, 2010

The one where I clog the toilet. Again.

We are being forced to make some very difficult decisions for the new house. We are often asked to get in the car, drive somewhere that sometimes looks like an abandoned crack den, and pick out things. Important things. Like sinks and toilets and lighting fixtures and stone, oh my. Recently, we drove, sans child of course (because an 18 month-old + lighting fixtures/unsecured sinks does not = a good time, or rational decisions) about 30 miles away to pick out the plumbing fixtures for our new house. It wasn't in the best part of town, and after seeing the building, our conversation went something like this:
Me: This is a little scary.
Paul: Well, they are wholesalers.
Me: Wholesalers, as in, we steal this stuff and sell it to you for a reasonable price?
Paul: Possibly.

As I said before, this building somewhat resembled an abandoned crack den. This was not par for our contractor - he usually sends us to really nice showrooms because he lacks the ability to do anything half-assed. Or cheap. Ahem. Anywho, I had a feeling that we were going to stumble upon a.) a syringe-toting drug lord that would rob us of everything we have - including my mom's car (that's right, we live with them AND drive their vehicles) or b.) the land of Oz-like showroom. Luckily for us, it turned out to be the latter. Sort of. It was definitely very un-assuming on the outside, let's just leave it at that.

We met a very nice lady, who made sure to make it very clear that she was the only one who was working there and that they closed at 4:30 (instead of the 5 o'clock that was posted on the door) and that she no longer worked Saturdays. We started in on the kitchen sinks and she had to run into her office to look something up when the feeling came over me: I had to poop. Now. I told Paul that I needed to use the restroom and he directed me toward the back of the showroom. When I got in there, I was totally expecting to be blown away by the coolest fixtures they had to offer. Letdown. Then I noticed a sign beside the toilet: PLEASE RETURN THE SEAT TO THE CLOSED POSITION AS THIS IS A WORKING EXHIBIT. Nice. So, what they were trying to tell me is, if I really liked that particular toilet, the lady would say, "Oh, sure. Come with me into the ladies room. We have a working exhibit!" Eww. Just as I was reading the sign I thought to myself, "Gee, self. It would really suck to clog this bitch up". I finished my business and flushed....

DAMNIT. ShitshitshitSHIT! Clogged. I swear, for such a small person I can really drop some logs. I panicked and looked around. No plunger. Not behind the toilet, not under the sink. Nothing. Men's room. If there is one thing I know it is that men always have the plunger. I ran over and peeked in. Nothing. I was going to have to do the unthinkable: reach in and pull that turd out go ask for a plunger. I arrived before the saleswoman returned and whispered to Paul that I had clogged the toilet. No, there is not plunger. No, not even in the men's room. Then he told me to reach in. F that! When the lady came back I said, "This is really embarrassing, but do you have a plunger?" she ignored me so I spoke up, "DO YOU HAVE AH PLUNGER?!" she looked up at my red face and said, "Uh, no. Don't think so. Don't worry about it hun. I'll call the guy." Oh Jesus. Great. She was going to have to call someone who was going to have to plung out my shit probably a good 3 hours later. Poor soul. We SOOoooo weren't going to get their best prices.

As you can imagine, moving on from that conversation and back to the task at hand was kind of akward. For me at least. She seemed to not skip a beat and went about showing us the options for soaking tubs. Sure. Whatever. Got any of those around? I am sure I can somehow clog the drain with hair or something gross. Needless to say, it was an awesome day. I was pretty proud of myself as that was my first real public clogging. If the quote that we recieved for the plumbing fixtures is any indication of the impression I made on the saleslady, it was rich. Priceless even.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Just a little sleepy.

There isn't too much going on over here. We are dealing with allergies now, because the other sickness has moved on, so you know, there has to be something new. We can't ever just be healthy. Not until at least May...Anyways, here is kind of what has been going on:
Just your typical Luc narcolepsy.

Hope everyone else is doing better than the bubble family!

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Slow down, you're moving too fast.

I guess I can update my blog now that we are officially moved in with my parents. I know, freeloaders. I am not going to lie and say this was totally easy for all of us. I mean, with the pouring rain on moving day, the croup outbreak, missing the old house, old gym, friends, family, life, etc. but it is for the best and I know it will get easier. Mason is having a great time...well, minus the croup. Did I mention he has croup? Yeah. Something that we had to go to an urgent care facility to get perscriptions for considering we are now an hour away from his pediatrician. It was in that same urgent care facility that he had a major meltdown after skipping a nap and refusing to follow the NO EATING, NO DRINKING, & NO CELL PHONE rules...okay, I broke the last one.

I went and got a gym membership today at a place that I used to belong high school. It is still the same, which almost made me cry because I realized how spoiled I had become and how instead of trying to catch up with a new, faster life, I must now learn how to slow down, minimize, and relax. Perhaps even find my happiness again. Now, before you go getting all confused, it is not that I am unhappy, but  I have certainly become hardened with life, age and responsibility. I am hoping that returning to my roots will find me in the same mindset that I had before college, cheating boyfriends, bad job experience and post-partum depression. I am also hoping that being within walking distance to family members and friends will help me drop the guilt of not being close to them, and them not getting to watch Mason grow up.

I think we will all be fine. I can do this. It just takes time and patience - which I am pretty bad at, but I can do this.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Therapy with Tiff

Two posts in two days! I know, right? It's like the old me is back.

You know how people who work in post offices are always incredibly unhappy? You do. Don't lie. Unless you work in a post office ::waves:: then YOU my friend, are the most delightful person I have ever met. No, wait! Don't leave!! Anywho, so these people. They are always soooo miserable. I have always wondered why. Why oh why USPS peeps, are you so down on life? I have a plan. Let's talk it out, I will give you some talking points, you let me know if I am right.

1. Those lights. They are YELLOW. And not "happy sunshine" yellow. God-awful pee-stained carpet yellow. I would probably lose the happy as well.
2. The most exciting part of your job is when a new line of stamps come out. And you get first dibs. Star Wars, anyone?
3. You repeat words like "perishable" and "liquid" all day.
4. It smells of carbon-copy paper in there. Ick.
5. You cannot accept credit cards without a valid signature. No, you cannot even accept cards with "PLEASE ID" on the back accompanied with the correct identification.
6. Every piece of paperwork you encounter is overly complicated. And the people filling them out are stooopid.
7. Your place of employment always has a dusty and dingy feel to it.
8. You are the only person that can work the counter. EVER. There is never anyone there to help you dwindle down that line that is now out the door. And if there is a second worker that day, it's Maude. The 80-something bored lady that smells of moth balls and applied for this job just to bug you and operate in the SLOWEST fashion EVER. ::big breath::
9. There will no doubt be a line that extends out the door at 5pm.
10. People bring their car-obsessed, super-tantrum throwing 18 month-old children with them and procede to keep asking you to repeat yourself as you try to explain how the PO Boxes work. This person also has to keep running away to chase said child as he darts for the parking lot.

Now. Why would you ever hate your job so much that you would make every person that comes into contact with you want to swerve into oncoming traffic after visiting you? I guess I will never know.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Dear Mason - 18 Months

18 Months

Dear Mason,

I know. I am behind. You must understand though, that I have been very busy packing up our lives. Our big, crowded, hoarder lives. How does a family of barely three completely fill a 2,000 square foot house? GREAT question. I will refer that one to you, little man. It seems I cannot take a step with hearing Elmo's voice, or one of the Yo Gabba Gabba characters, or the annoying children and adults that record all of the Fisher Price toy sounds. No matter how sneaky I am about putting your toys away, you will stop what you are doing, walk over to the closet and throw them all over the house. The only time you do not is at night, before bed. I tell you it is time to put your toys away, and you oblige me. Thank you for that.

At your 18 month appointment, you weighed 24 pounds, 14 ounces. A true testament to your wonderful eating habits. Just this morning, you knocked down 3 adult sized pancakes, a pear cup and an entire cup of milk. Well done. Now, you will smell of maple syrup until your next bath.

The weather has been really warm, well above 50 degrees for the past two days. We have been taking walks, our last walks, through the neighborhood. You scream, and flap your arms like a bird every time you see another child, or dog. Your true joy brings a smile to my face every time. I know you don't know how to fake happiness and I hope you never have to learn how. That is my mission: Mission Happy. My mission always fails though, when it is time to go inside. You scream bloody murder and somehow dislocate your shoulders so that you slide right out of my arms.

Your doctor and I had a little chat about the tantrums you love to throw lately. I have pretty much tried it all: yelling, ignoring, time outs, putting you in your crib and shutting the door, threatening day care...none of it was really working BUT a combination of time outs/ignoring you. I guess it slipped my mind that you wanted a reaction out of me. You were WINNING. I am smarter now, son. I know this game. Bring it on.

You recently started calling your toy school bus a BUS instead of a CAR. Maybe you really are listening to us when we tell you, "That's a bus/truck/etc." every time you say "CAR!". Maybe someday you will even make your Papa happy and say "Porsche" instead of just car. You will learn. Porsche's are way more than just cars.

We are moving soon. I think you are going to have a blast living with family for the next...forever. No, I promise it won't be forever. Maybe close to it though. And after forever, you will have a new house. And hopefully still-married parents. I'M KIDDING! DON'T CRY! Mommy and Daddy love eachother very much...yes, even when he elbows her in the head in her sleep.

I always say I don't know how you can get any cuter, funnier, or smarter. You keep blowing my mind every day. Slow down a little bit, okay?