Cray Cray Crazy Beautiful & Busy Life

Oh my goodness. Today I ran around like a one-armed wallpaper hanger on crack and speed. Or are crack and speed the same things? I don’t know, I’ve never been very fluent in drug-lingo, having never partaken of things like crack or speed, and also I’m not a cop and I’ve never appeared on an episode of Miami Vice.

Regardless, today was crazy busy.

It was my first day back at The Stir. I wrote about silly school districts unintentionally giving kids heat strokes, and also Miley Cyrus’s VMA debacle. You know, because that hasn’t been talked about enough. Can people please stop talking about Miley? Oh, I should take my own advice? Hmmm … well then let’s just say I wrote some social commentary about teen culture in America.

Also in there somewhere, I carted the kiddos to school, which is now a 30-minute commute, saw my therapist and went through the usual emotional meat grinder and came out a lovely sausage at the other end (or something), picked up my brand new kindergartener at the ‘transitional’ 1 pm pick-up time, ran home for an hour to relieve Furbaby and cuddle with said kindergartener, ran back to school to pick up the fifth grader, and ghostwrote a couple of fundraising emails for my other job. Also laundry, dishes, breakfast, lunch, dinner, homework, and bedtime stories.

I’s is a leetle bit tired. And I can’t wait until next week when I can pick both kids up at 3 instead of this skewed pickup time nonsense. But only one more day of that for me, because Leif is in charge of them from tomorrow evening until Sunday! Holla! Don’t get me wrong, I miss them like nutso when they’re gone, but I’m glad they love their daddy, and honestly, it gives me a few days to play catch up. I might even put that pile of clean laundry away! Hahahahahaha — I almost believed myself there for a moment.

So many people have asked me over the past several months … how are you going to live? It’s been asked in various contexts (emotionally, financially, sanely, etc.), but the answer to them all is one day at a time. At least for right now.

It’s odd and strangely freeing to not know exactly where I’m going to be a year from now. I’ve always been the girl with The Plan. The Plan has changed every now and then, because hey, life requires adaptation, but right now there is No Plan other than love my girls like crazy, work hard enough to pay the bills, and rely totally and fully on God.

I’m sure His Plan is better than My Plan anyway.

Here’s to a good night’s sleep. Goodnight and God bless!

This Is Not a Post About Church — It’s About Target.

So hi.

I had this big long post all typed up for y’all about the church drama aftermath, but I forgot to save it.

Just kidding. Jesus saves my soul, and I save all my writing just about every other sentence. The truth is that it’s long and messy and super sad and I’m trying really hard to have a positive attitude and not get trapped in the quagmire of crap surrounding this particular situation.

There’s more to life than that. Which is why I use words like quagmire — because that’s seriously a great word.

So I’ll tell you that Leif, to his credit, has decided to take the girls to church elsewhere on his Sundays.

And that’s all I have to say about that, because a dead horse is not worth beating.

Now onto more interesting things — like shopping at Target.

You may or may not have heard, but I’m a single mom now. And single moms aren’t exactly rolling in dough. Also, I’m the one that moved out, and I took very little with me. So now I have this mostly empty house that needs some stuff.

The girls took care of the lack of a dining table by turning the dining room into a campground. Done. And they have beds, I bought a couple cheap couches, and there are stools at the kitchen counter. We’re making do, and honestly, I’m enjoying the minimalist lifestyle for a bit. Cleaning is much easier this way.

But I really wanted some backyard furniture. The girly girls have been loving having a yard after years of condo-living, plus I’m one of those I-love-nature girls, so I’ve been wanting a place to park my rear that wasn’t the retaining wall or the plastic child-sized picnic table my parents let us nick from their house.

Enter Target. I took the girls to get some sunscreen, a kiddie pool, and a box-o-wine, and looked up to see this:

Target girls on chairs

 

And then I saw this:

Target chair price tag

Which led to this:

Target cart

But then on the way to the register, I saw these!

Target stools

And this:

Target stool tag

And so with one hand pushing the loaded cart, the other carrying one stool, Thing 1 diligently carrying the other, and Thing 2 dancing along backward behind us, we made our way to the register.

The lady took one look at us and asked, “Would you like some help out today?”

Yes. Yes I would, thank you.

Then this happened:

Target trunk

And that, my friends, is Target done like a boss.

How My Husband Found Out I Was Leaving Him

Our pastor heard a fourth-hand rumor and told him before talking to me about it.

Just like I’ve never really talked openly about the huge problems in my marriage out of respect for my husband, I’ve never shared about the challenges I’ve faced in my church, or how over the years my pastor became my nemesis. So long as I submitted to his spiritual oversight, I kept my mouth shut out of respect for his office.

But seeing as I’ve just sent off my official church membership resignation letter, and will likely be excommunicated shortly (oh yes, they can excommunicate me even if I resign — they are refusing to accept my resignation. I think there’s a name for religious groups that won’t let people leave on their own accord. I think it starts with C, and it ain’t Church.), I have some pretty fantastic stories to tell you.

Starting with the one about how Leif found out I was leaving him.

Before I begin. Some history. For years, my relationship with My Pastor has been fragile at best and contemptuous at worst. I take that back — it’s been destructive at worst. Honestly, if this were my only exposure to ‘Christianity,’ I’d likely be an atheist. Thankfully, my faith in God is stronger than my fear of men, and I feel like I’m finally getting right with Him again after years of wandering in the wilderness.

Which is kinda ironic, given the amount of Repent, Sinner, repent! communications I’ve received from the men in leadership at my (former) church.

Anyway … here’s the highlight reel of interactions between My Pastor and me …

There was the time I was severely reprimanded for standing and rocking a sleepy baby Thing 2 in the back of the church during worship service — we have a cry room for moms to hold their babies! Never mind the fact that I was keeping an eye on Thing 1, who was sitting in the pews by herself while my husband served the church as an usher.

That was followed shortly with an admonishment for having the audacity to suggest we start a cooperative nursery, so that parents of very young children could occasionally worship together in peace.

Did I ever tell you about the time My Pastor commented on my Facebook wall that I was in direct violation of Romans 13 by being involved with the Tea Party movement? Yeah, that happened. And it was the day before I was hosting a ladies tea party for the sisters in his congregation.

Remember all the GMA hullaballoo about Victoria’s Secret earlier this year? My Pastor said I was acting unwisely “to take covenant children shopping at a store that clearly uses soft pornography to market its product.” Again he did this publicly, on my Facebook wall. I got a visit from church leadership over that incident, and it was basically decided that they were going to ‘let’ me shop where I wanted and even write about it. I believe they said they were going to grant me a little bit of grace. My Pastor never apologized to me for the atrocious way he handled the situation — he only defended himself as acting in a pastoral manner. Seriously.

Through all of this and more, I have cried buckets of tears. I have begged my husband to find a new church home. His response has always been some variation of, “The perfect church is called Heaven. We made a commitment to this church, and need to understand that it’s led by fallible men.”

Ah, Christian oppression … isn’t it insidious?

Anyway, I could write volumes on the crap I’ve endured over the last 7+ years of attending there. But this is a post about My Pastor’s betrayal of me, and my husband’s defense of him.

What happened was that I had a friend. She was a relatively new friend, but we had a connection, and I trusted her.  I had been talking to her for several weeks about possibly finally ending it because I just couldn’t take it anymore, and then one Tuesday I told her I was going to do it on the upcoming Friday.

Long story short: Instead of telling me she didn’t believe I was doing the ‘Christian’ thing, she told her husband, a seminary student. Instead of encouraging her to talk to me about it, he told one of his professors. Instead of encouraging his student to talk to his wife to talk to me about it, he told My Pastor. Instead of asking if the initial contact had been made, as per directed in Matthew 18, My Pastor began harassing me the next day via phone, email, and text.

I had a busy day, and had an inkling as to what the whole thing was about, so eventually I texted him back and asked what it was regarding. A ‘pastoral matter,’ I was told. Ok, fine. No reason to take time out of my life if he couldn’t even be bothered to answer my question.

I tried calling him back mid-afternoon, but got his voicemail. Told him I’d give him a call in about half an hour. Within that half an hour, Leif called to tell me he was on the way home. I think it was around 5pm at this point, and he hardly ever comes home early.

My senses were on red alert as I called My Pastor back again. Keep in mind that the last time this man addressed me personally, it was to call me a bad mother on my public Facebook wall. He picked up the phone, and said he had heard some disturbing news. I made a joke about not having written about my panties on the internet recently, and he didn’t even laugh. Pfffttt.

He told me that he had heard a rumor that I was planning on divorcing my husband. I told him it was just that — a rumor. Then he told me details that could have only come from one place. I said very calmly that I needed to speak to my husband. My Pastor asked me three or four times if the rumors were true, and somehow I managed not to flip my lid at him. I told him I needed to speak to my husband before I could talk to him any further.

“Well, I was concerned, so I called Leif and discussed it with him … “

I hung up the phone. Thanked God in Heaven that the girls were at my parents’ house that afternoon. RAN through the house throwing clothes, documents, girls’ lovies, and other various items into my car.

He walked in the door. He didn’t know I knew he knew, and he seemed unperturbed. Distant and detached, but that was nothing new. We shared a quick kiss (what would turn out to be our last), and I asked him if he minded taking the dog out for me. I grabbed my phone and my keys. I had no idea how this was going to go down.

He got back from taking the dog and went to the kitchen to wash his hands. I sat down on the other side of counter bar.

“I want to know what My Pastor told you,” I said as evenly as I could.

“Yeah, we should talk about that…”

“I want to know what My Pastor told you,” I repeated.

He paused. Dried his hands. Took a deep breath. Sighed. “That you were planning on filing for divorce on Friday,” he finally admitted.

So there you go. My Pastor had actually told my husband, based on a fourth-hand rumor, without talking to me first, that I was planning on leaving him. That. Just. Happened.

“I filed for divorce last week,” I told him flatly. “I was planning on telling you this Friday.”

It wasn’t more than a 15 or 20-minute conversation, the details of which are irrelevant to this particular story. I walked out the door. Spent the night at my parents’ house with the girls. Told them it was a fun slumber party because Daddy was having a boys’ night.

The next morning, I went back to the condo after taking the girls to school, talking to my therapist, and contemplating drinking before 9am (I stuck with Coke Zero). He was home. We sat in the living room and talked for maybe 45 minutes. There was a lot of silence.

I told him how incredibly inappropriately My Pastor had acted; how he had made it impossible for me to go to him in a time of need by his previous treatment of me, and how he had gone behind my back and told my husband something deeply personal and painful based on a rumor he’d heard.

My husband defended him as doing his pastoral duty. I looked him straight in the eyeballs and said, “The fact that you are defending this man’s actions yesterday is one of a thousand reasons I cannot stay married to you.”

That was a month and a half ago. I’ve spoken to two other leaders at my church, and they have both defended My Pastor’s actions that day. And they have both asked me time and time again to ‘repent of my sin.’

Did you know that apparently it’s up to men in the church to decide if you have cause for divorce, not God? I keep wanting to ask them if they’re going to tell God on me, but thus far have managed to refrain.

So that’s the story of how my husband found out I was leaving him. Last I heard he’s still going to My (ex) Pastor for council on the matter of his broken marriage.

Because I’m sure that guy has my best interest at heart.

**Note to clergy everywhere: There is more than one side to every story. Before you begin condemning one party and begging them to repent of their sin, you might like to try lovingly and graciously asking them what the heck is going on. 

When Life Hands You Lemons, Grab the Remote

I’ve been living without a man around the house for just over a month now, and there are definitely some things I’ve had to get over. Spiders, for instance. I’ve had to kill numerous spiders all by myself. I tried to make the girls do it, but they were too busy screaming bloody murder at the eight-legged freaks to obey me. We’re going to have to work on that. Or something.

Then there was the time Godzilla snuck in my front door. WHAT DO YOU DO WITH A FOOT-LONG LIZARD IN YOUR LIVING ROOM? Trap it under a box, that’s what. Out into the garden he went — I spared his life on the promise that he’d eat any spiders before they wandered into the house. He has not been keeping his end of the bargain. Moral of the story? Never trust a lizard.

I’ve had to do all my own dishes. Leif used to do that. (Credit where credit is due.) Also, I don’t have a working dishwasher at the moment, so it’s all by hand. Ugh.

Money. Is. Tight.

So far, a toilet hasn’t clogged yet, but I know it will eventually (hello, I have kids!), and then it will be my responsibility to fix it. *Skipping off to knock on wood*

But there are some pretty neat things too. Since I’m a silver linings kinda girl, I’m taking great joy in the little things. Things like catching up on Nashville. Once the kiddos go to bed, my time is my own — yay! I started watching Nashville in Boston, and just got caught up on the season. Oh my gosh, I thought my life was full of drama! Such a good show, and highly recommended.

Routine and schedule. The girls and I have gotten into a groove already. It turns out that predictability is awesome. Who knew?

Sleeeeeeeeeep. Sweet sweet sleep. No snoring, no sleeping on the couch. Just sleeping in my own bed. All night long. Ok, I still get up to use the ladies room at least once, but then I go right back to bed and fall asleep again.

Time to recharge. When Leif has the girls, it’s completely guilt-free time to myself. I know they want to see him and vice versa, and that they’re with someone that loves them (almost) as much as I do (they lived in me — trump card!). Of course I miss them, but I’m glad that they have a relationship with their dad. Every girl needs a daddy.

Did I mention total control of the remote? So what if my cable is so basic I only get 10 channels? That’s what Hulu is for.

Yeah, life is going to throw you challenges, but it’s how you cope with them that matters. Life is messy and complicated, and it’s too short to live negatively. So when your marriage falls apart (or whatever is getting you down), find the very cool, maybe somewhat selfish things to do that make you happy. Do the things you couldn’t really do before. Spend time getting to know yourself again. You might even like who you find.

Now. Has anyone seen my remote? It’s around here somewhere, and I have some very important flippant channel Hulu surfing to do.

Divorce & Piety

Before I begin ranting, I would like to take a few sentences to thank every single person that has reached out to me in love after yesterday’s bombshell. I hold you all near and dear to my heart, and appreciate you more than you’ll ever know. My most appreciative thanks to every woman that recognized herself in my words and took a moment to tell me that what I wrote mattered to her … I can’t even express my love and compassion for you right now.

Now. To those that would condemn me for this. I have something to say to y’all.

One of the hardest things for me to face when deciding whether or not to leave my husband was the censure from other Christians that I knew I’d be exposed to. In the secular culture, divorce is sad and all, but more or less accepted. In my world, it just isn’t an option. Especially when it’s between two believers that haven’t had affairs.

I used to be full of righteous judgment for Christians whose marriages fell apart. I believed they weren’t faithful enough to God, had lousy communication skills, and/or generally put their own selfish desires above God’s commands. As little as a year and a half ago, a dear friend told me he and his wife were splitting, and my response was an immediate, “You can’t DO that!”

To this friend, and to every other person I have judged without knowledge of what lay in their hearts or where they stood with God — I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I assumed you were giving up … now I know you were moving on.

I’m sorry I thought you should try harder … now I know you tried everything but selling your soul.

I’m sorry I thought you were putting yourself ahead of your kids … now I know that your children were never, ever an afterthought in your decision.

I’m sorry I thought you were stumbling in your walk with God … you might have been, but that wasn’t for me to judge.

I’m sorry I thought I was better than you … I am the same as you.

To every person that has insinuated or even flat-out accused me of sinning by separating from my husband after years of prayer, reflection, denial, realizations, more prayer, begging, and even more prayer — please un-bunch your pious panties and go read Matthew chapter 7. There’s something in there about a log and speck you might find particularly interesting.

I needed a time-out for my marriage — possibly a permanent one. But every person that tells me I’m going against God’s will by separating from my husband drives me further away from wanting to reconcile with him.

Details aren’t needed. Leif is the father of my amazing children, and I want nothing more than to be his friend again someday, regardless of what happens in our marriage. But things have been very broken between us for a very long time, and it took every ounce of courage I had to take the step that went against everything my religious culture told me but somehow I knew God was telling me was right.

To be told that this beautiful, wonderful thing I have learned exists in my soul, this thing that gives me the strength to flip my life over when nothing else has worked, this thing that has made me braver than I thought possible, and made me rely on God more than I ever have in my entire life … to be told that this is a perversion of His plan for me? Well, it would suck, but things have been so full of suckage the past few years that all I can really do is roll my eyes.

Now I understand all the eye rolls I once got. I hope that you never do.

10 Years, 9 Months, 12 Days, and 2 Kids Later …

I filed for divorce.

So there’s that.

This decision was arrived at neither casually nor mutually. While Leif would be quite content to stay married forever, I am not, for reasons I do not feel the need to discuss at this time.

I know the question you want answered: What happened? Sorry to disappoint you, but nothing happened. We could blame the fact that we got married too young or too fast, or had kids too soon, or worked too many long hours, but the fact of the matter is that lots of relationships include those variables and turn out just fine in the end.

There is no one moment in time a person can pinpoint and say, “Aha! That’s when it all started to fall apart!” You don’t just wake up one day and say to yourself, “You know, I think I’ll file for divorce today. For kicks and giggles.”

Divorce is tragic. It rips families apart. It leaves emotional scar tissue in its wake. God hates it. It is never to be taken lightly. It is an option of last resort. Well, except for murder, but that’s illegal and I hate blood, and oh yeah, it’s evil and I hope I never hate anyone enough to even entertain that idea.

I know there are questions, so I’ve done my best to preemptively answer some of them below. Because I’m a blogger and I like to share.

FAQ

Q: How can this happen when you guys seemed so happy?

A: Once upon a time we were happy. Not every couple’s story ends with a “happily ever after.” Once you start to realize you aren’t happy, there’s a very long period of time spent in denial. I am happy, dammit! Things are just rocky right now, slowly transforms into, ok, I’m a wee bit miserable, but I’ll be happy again soon.

This doesn’t happen over weeks or months, but years. Then you start to question your sanity, because there are some good times sprinkled here or there that glimmer of hope that things are changing and the heat wave will break and beautiful flowers will bloom on the morrow.

If you’re a blogger, you share the good times and only occasionally the bad, and you hold fast to the belief that things will get better. Behind the scenes, you hope and you pray and you beg and you try everything to make it work. You yell and you cry and you apologize and try to ignore the fact that there’s been no real resolution.

You remember how happy you were to walk down the aisle and say, “I do,” and promise your heart to another. You hold onto those memories with a vice-like grip. You look at your children, little human beings that you made together, and think things can’t be so bad, because look at this amazing goodness that came from your union. It will get better, right?

In other words, denial is a powerful thing, and not everything is as it seems.

Q: What about the girls?

A: They are bright and wonderful children who are very loved by two devoted parents. With some counseling and time to grieve and adjust, they will be just fine.

Q: How can you call yourself a Christian?

A: If you call yourself a Christian, you have no business asking that, you hypocrite. If you don’t, then the only answer I have is that I believe in the saving grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and that my soul was bought at the price of His blood shed on the cross. That doesn’t change with my marital status.

Q: Have you thought this through?

A: Gosh, no I didn’t! I didn’t think at all about how much this will hurt our friends and loved ones, how it might affect my daughters’ romantic relationships later in life, the grief of our happily married parents, the awkward social situations that are bound to arise, the inevitable financial strain …

Q: Do you know how hard life is as a single parent?

A: Probably not. I didn’t know how hard motherhood was going to be either. No one can fully anticipate what trials the future holds. One day at a time, baby.

Q: Is there any chance you guys could work it out?

A: It’s unlikely, but I have agreed to hold off on definitively answering that question or finalizing anything until some of these festering emotional wounds have had a bit of time and space to heal.

Regardless, I believe that ultimately all things work together for God’s glory, even the nasty bits. So even if we don’t work out, I know everything will work out in the end exactly as it’s meant to be.

Q: Are you still living together?

A: No. (Please see previous Q&A and note the ‘time and space’ contingent.)

Q: Where are the girls?

A: They’re living with me, and Leif has visitation. We’re working on figuring things out. It’s been all of less than three weeks since the fit hit the shan, so we obviously don’t have an ironed-out schedule at this point. So far we’ve been making sure that they know when they will be seeing the other parent next, because apparently stability is important.

Q: Is this why you’ve been so quiet on the blog front this past year?

A: Basically. My life has been consumed with getting through my days, aching at not being able to get through to my husband, questioning my grip on reality, questioning our history, and questioning God. And tears — lots and lots of tears.

In other words, it’s hard to think up something to share with y’all when all I wanted to write was, “Sooooo … my life is falling apart around me and the scotch tape I’ve always used to hold it together doesn’t seem to be cutting it anymore…”

Q: What can I do for you?

A: Please be respectful. Don’t assume anything. No one knows what goes on inside a relationship except the people in that relationship, and even then it occasionally often gets convoluted.

Pray for us. Don’t take sides. Don’t pray for reconciliation and don’t pray for divorce. Pray that God’s will be done — no matter what the outcome. Because guess what? It will be done. God is kinda almighty like that. So I guess … please pray that grace be plentiful all around as we wade through this crap.

And of course, the most important thing is our children. Hearing negative things about either of their parents will not benefit them in any way, shape, or form, and as my great grandma always said, “Little pitchers have big ears.” So if you have something negative to say about either one of us, I kindly ask you to take a deep breath and remember that there are children involved.

GMA Is In the House

Thing 1 and Abbie chatting about fashion

Thing 1 and Abbie chatting about fashion

Aggh!!! TV camera on me right now! I’m totally going to have to blog about this. Hmmm … maybe I’ll turn this into a blog post. Yes, That’s what I’ll do.

Remember when I told you Good Morning America was coming over? You know, just a typical Monday for this girl. You see … I wrote this thing about Victoria’s Secret on The Stir … and people liked it. Of course I’m sure some people didn’t, but you can’t please everyone.

So the film crew is here, and I’m supposed to be looking like I’m actually, you know, writing something, so I thought, why not write a blog post about them being here?

Jeff and Becky are the camera peeps, and they are super duper nice. Plus they like my kids — and anyone that likes my kids can stay. The reporter and producer are on the way, but they had to stop at the mall first, because they wanted an Orange Julius.

Haha! Just kidding. They went for shots of VS. I’m guessing. You know, because this story is on VS. I’m bright like that.

Leif got called away for some urgent something rather-or-other, so my saintly mama dropped everything and came over to help. She. Is. Awesome. Seriously, thank you Mom!

 

~~~ Approximately five hours later ~~~

Wowza that was a lot of filming! Had so much fun though. The girls were awesome. I think my favorite line was when ABC correspondent Abbie Boudreau asked Thing 1 whom she looked to for fashion advice … like what movie star?

My sweet girl said that she looked to her mom and gramma for fashion advice. Abbie asked her what kind of advice she got from Gramma, and she replied, “Not to wear socks with sandals.”

Amen, Sistah.

Abbie and her producer Derrick were so fun to work with, and I hope I get to do so again some time. Plus — like Jeff and Becky, they seemed to adore my kids. Seriously people, if you want to get on my good side, tell me how awesome my kids are. I greatly enjoy people that can recognize the truth right in front of them. *wink*

 

~~~ Approximately one day later ~~~

Soooooo … I totally didn’t post this last night. I know there was more I wanted to add, but at this point, I think I’ll post as-is and save more tell-all until after the segment airs.

Tune into Good Morning America on Thursday, y’all! The segment is scheduled to air in the 8-9 o’clock hour.

New Chapter

It’s 8:22 a.m., and I have the next six and a halfish hours to myself. No one asking for a third cup of chocolate milk, no one throwing a tantrum because it’s nap time, no one asking me where something is, only to have me get up and find it exactly where I said it would be.

I’ve been home from Boston for almost two weeks, but this is the first day of the New Normal. The girls were out of school for the entire week of Thanksgiving, and even though they went back yesterday, we had a parent-teacher conference at 11:30, then Leif was home the rest of the day.

Side note: Thing 2 is doing extremely well in K-prep. Her cognitive skills rock. Also, her teacher says she shares well and doesn’t get her feelings hurt easily, to which Leif and I asked, “Who??” 

Anyway. This is my first day where I can just get crap done. And oh boy, do I have a laundry list. And laundry. That needs to get done too. And I need to finish Christmas decorating. Write some things. Call some people about a job. Maybe I’ll even have it together to have snacks ready for when we get home from school.

I’ve always heard that it’s life changing when your littlest starts fulltime school — and even though I’m only 20 minutes into it, it’s kinda awesome.

This morning when I went to buckle Thing 2 into her carseat (because they have to stay in them until they’re old enough to drive the car themselves in California — it least it seems like that), she told me that she could do it herself. I rolled my eyes and then watched in disbelief as she did it herself. For nine years, I’ve watched with naked envy those moms that could just tell their kids to get into the car without having to buckle them all up.

I’m officially in the Mom of School-Aged Children Who Can Buckle Themselves Into the Car Club.

Don’t even think about asking me when I’m going to have another baby.

Princess Ponderings — What’s Up with Sleeping Beauty?

The Ladies

There are all sorts of super heavy things to think about right now, what with Sandy wiping out the eastern seaboard, and oh yeah, that presidential election happening next week. Rather than tear my hair out or eat my feelings, I’ve been occupying my mind with other things, like which Disney Princess is the best?

As I was mentally taking stock of their various attributes and accomplishments, it occurred to me that I have no use for Sleeping Beauty, even though I thought I loved her because she wears pink and I like her fairy godmother code name — Briar Rose.

But really, what did she actually accomplish?

Ok, so my really real favorite is Ariel, because hi, she lives in the OCEAN and I love the BEACH. And the red hair connection. Also, chick was brave to sell her voice for some gams to chase her dreams of living in the human world. Don’t let anyone tell you no when you know you can do something.

There’s Snow White, who had to deal with a pyscho stepmom that hired a hit man to carve her heart out of her chest. Then she had to clean up after seven coal miners. Ok, diamond miners, but it’s all carbon anyway. Despite that, she never lost her kind and gentle spirit. I would’ve raised my eyebrow at that bitch with the apple and said, “You first.”

Cinderella is classic rags to riches story — the gentile lady forced to act as a scullery maid after her father dies and leaves her with the evil steps. Girl worked her hiney off. I would’ve let Prince Philip take me away too.

Tiana is the one princess I’m unfamiliar with, but I hear she has something to do with frogs and learning to accept the quirks of life — like being turned into a frog.

Belle showed tremendous sacrifice when she promised to stay with the beast to save her father. That’s character.

Pocahontas showed the white man how to paint with all the colors of the wind. And you know, like respect nature and stuff.

Jasmine wasn’t too snooty to fall in love with a street rat. She knew that looks can be deceiving, and she was more concerned with what was in someone’s heart rather than the crown on their head.

Rapunzel is the latest and the favorite of my girls. Girl was kept prisoner for eighteen years after being kidnapped as a baby. She finally escaped and found happiness.

Mulan? Saved China.

But what did Sleeping Beauty do? She lived with her three awesome fairy godmothers in a cute little cottage in the woods before pricking her finger and taking a nap.

What’s that about?

A Laundry List of First World Grievances. Also Laundry.

Sometimes things don’t go your way. This is one of those times. Also no one who ever said money can’t buy happiness ever had to pay six quarters into a washing machine to make it work.

Broke as a Joke

No really. And it’s not funny. On my way home from work on Friday, I stopped at the corner store to pick up a Lean Cuisine (because glamlife to the max), and my blue card wasn’t working. Ok, how about the temporary red one? No? Yellow? Expired in September? Suuuuuck.

Meanwhile, I got a note in my mailbox that I had undeliverable mail from the bank at the post office because my name wasn’t on my mailbox. When I moved to Boston, I had to open a new account because my bank in California doesn’t exist in this state. Ok, I’d have to go get that on Saturday morning.

Friday night was spent tracking down a store that both sold wine and took checks, because I had no cards and no cash. Yes, I bought wine from a trendy boutique with a Phineas and Ferb check. What? You’ve never seen a desperate mom before?

No money — no way to get quarters for the laundry. Must waits for Saturday.

Saturday

Finally found the post office. Waited in line. Was lectured by guy at the counter to put my name on my mailbox. Was handed a thick package. Um, this doesn’t look like it contains my new bank card … more checks! Gah.

It was 12:30. The only banks open on the weekends around here close at noon on Saturdays. Until Monday morning.

And my T-pass expired.

Then I got slammed with some work stuff, which was fine because I was stuck at home with my dirty laundry anyway.

Also it was hot.

And my landlord took away my AC last week.

And I live on the 4th floor and it’s hot.

And I have no clean clothes because the laundry situation is ridiculous.

And my leg still smarts from when I freaking fell on the T a few days ago because I have the grace and poise of a baby water buffalo.

And my jeans are tight and I have zero motivation to exercise.

And carbs are so yummy.

Whine.

Groan.

Boo.

Hiss.

Pffffftttttt.

You know you’re feeling gross when you look forward to Monday. Even if just for the bank being open.