Got something to say? I’ll ignore a ringing phone, but I do answer email.
Hello everbody! I haven’t updated this in an embarrassingly long time (Two years? Gravy– it’s 2012, y’all).
Who am I?
Ummm.. how far back you want to go here?
Trying to categorize those labels with the largest personal impact? Not necessarily suggesting I am professionally capable? Well, then I am a:
ADHD Woman. Daughter. Army-brat. Friend. Enemy. Wife. Writer. Photographer. Crafter. DIYer. Gardener. Runner. Feminist. Hippie. Liberal. Atheist. Hypocrite.
For all of you smart-ass grammar freaks– I intentionally chose scatter over scattered.
–verb (used without object)
4. to separate and disperse; go in different directions.
5. the act of scattering.
6. something that is scattered.
You can infer that mothering two children, (aka the Small People) results in movement in different directions. Bonus for being an ADHD mom whose thoughts—– ooh look, a shiny squirrel—- scatter. Often.
Sometimes I feel as if the information in my brain cycles faster than that in the folks around me. Notice I did not say suggest it moves more efficiently. Thoughts push and shove each other– often trampling the original thought to oblivion.
Case in point, I logged on to check the weather.
I’m of a dry wit, and thrive on sarcasm–giving and receiving. I’ve also become very good at totally pretending to not “get” passive aggressive comments. It’s awesome.
I love my children with every bit of cliche’ ever written. But I’m also comfortable with admitting that their neediness, and insistence on touching me all the time sparks little Thelma and Louise type fantasies.
I’m irreverent and sometimes offensive.
I don’t take any of this very seriously– life, marriage, parenting. If the thought that I might have referred to my precious babies as dicks offends you? Or my occasional use of the word fuck? Well, there are lots of blogs to read.
I’m flexible with my life view, as I (finally) mature, there are but a handful of things that I’m rigid about. Some folks find my flexibility annoying; I find those folks annoying.
Try. Fail. Try again. Succeed. The only other option casts you as an adult whiny-cry-baby-pants, and they never get invited to the birthday parties.
She’s the before-kids version of me. The woman who managed to store some really complicated information in a now-jealous brain. She talked her way into being in charge of a specialized part in a biostatistics department at a company that gets contracted to do pharma/health research.
No I’m not suffering from split personality, but damn it often feels like her life belonged to someone else.
She’s getting her own page, that crazy bitch.
The husband. The man I tried to convince to divorce me (no one would know) after we filed our first joint, no-kids tax return. The man, who during a discussion on sexuality during a sociology class made this comment:
“It’s my understanding that woman have more than one erogenous zone.”
I started stalking coincidentally appearing in places he liked to hang out the very next day. I totally fell for his pick up line– I’m going to be a rock star– and he totally thought I was sane.
I’d say we are even.
He patiently supports all most of my unique ideas. Now. Over the years he’s stopped getting that look of, “Crazy Bitch wants to do what with a hot glue gun and a shower curtain?”. Consequently, I’m more willing to listen when he takes off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose in response to: “why not just cut the square dining room table into a circle?”
He and I? We couldn’t be more different.
He’ll also tell you that if I had married someone like me, it would have been a fantastic (for the spectators) nuclear disaster.
Zach, The Biggest of the Small People
Five years old, a Scorpio, our first-born son. My physical mini-me. Emotionally complicated, sarcastic, smart, funny, goofy. Fighter of all the Villainous Unfairness.
With an insatiable curiosity (and an unstoppable mouth), he could rule the world. But first he has to move out of my basement– hard when he’s promising to never leave me.
To quote JB: “he’s just a really smart, really complicated kid”. I hear that he’s very sweet and compliant– at preschool.
Elliot, The Smallest of The Small People
Three years old, though strangers often assume younger; also a Scorpia– which made an online astrology quiz wince in sympathy.
My second born, so impatient he decided that there was no need for an epidural. This kid challenges everything I thought I knew about raising Small People. He’s adaptable– until he’s not and then he’s 28 pounds of immovable mountain.
JB’s physical mini-me. But Elliot’s refusal to just do what people want him to do; to conform?
I get why I’m an only child.