Tales from down under...

Today I saw my Gynecologist for my routine female check-up.  Not at all a big deal, right?  I mean, thousands of women do it every day.  What makes me extra nervous to see mine you ask? My doctor is not only my doctor, but family friend as well.  I have lunched with his wife at Chick-fil-a, and know many personal details of their marriage and sex life.  I have been to their home for birthday parties, swim parties, bbq's, and even spend an hour or two on Christmas Eve with them. I went to him before this friendship blossomed, and while I was pregnant with my last baby I thought nothing of it - although his partner did deliver me.  It's been two years, and I have yet to go.  So today was the day.  I went.  My concerns were that HE would be embarrassed to see me -that having me buck naked wrapped in a front opening robe would be too much for our friendship.  

Boy was I wrong.  

He was thrilled to see me, made jokes -and was the most professional person on earth.  I even felt comfortable enough to ask some questions.  He was great.  Although he felt compelled to tell me that whatever we talked about would never leave the room.  Im sure he did this since his wife and I are friends and would not want me worrying that my gyno history would come up over nuggets and waffle fries.  I actually inquired about what I like to call....a little "snip snip" down there.  Labiaplasty is what the pros call it.  I can barely say it without clenching my jaw.  Snip Snip just flows.  Anyhow I asked -and he said that it was ok - since the Dr. I had in mind to do it was someone he trusts.  I did get the "you're beautiful -you do not need it" lecture, but he was supportive.  I will one day have to get drunk and blog about this insecurity of mine - because its way too hard to discuss sober.  Only my closest friend knows how I feel about it - and even then it was hard to tell someone.  

Anyhow -the point was - I really misjudged this whole thing.  I wasted a ton of nervous energy and had sweaty palms all morning.  The guy is a pro.  I was a moron to think that it would be anything but.

Conversations with a 7 year old

Son - "Mom, how come everything is made in China?"

Me - "Well, ummmm - there are a lot of factories in China.  Things get made over there and then they are sent here to America."   (I realize this answer lacks truth, but I had to pull this one out of you know where.)

Son - "Well I'm just confused then."

Me - "Why baby?"

Son - "It makes no sense to me.  If everything is MADE in China, then why is it written in English?"

A roller coaster that I would like to get off...

Dear Me,

Right now you are feeling totally alone, though surrounded by loving children and friends.  You don't know what to say to your flailing husband - and when you do say something - you pay for it. I know you are trying so hard to control your fears and the unknown -but it haunts you daily.  Its like you have moments of forgetting that we may go broke or lose the house and you actually are smiling and pretending everything is ok (maybe even celebrating with a deserved purchase from Vicky S's), but the truth is these moments are fleeting.  And up the ticking hill this roller coaster goes, and slowly you wait for the next quick thrill.  You even pull away from your neighborhood friends - for fear of losing them, for fear of facing the many questions they will all have if our house goes up, or them getting an all too real glimpse into your sorrow.  Also - when you see others are out spending money off the tree they have in their backyard that is always in bloom - the tiny green monster comes out and you have to beat its ass down to the ground.  You look at your kids and feel guilty.  You look at your life and regret the choices you made.  

With your husband already so down - its hard to know what to say or do.  Especially comforting you - since that archaic form of attention is labeled high on his list as incredibly selfish, given the fears he is facing.  Hence you are on this coaster alone -while he is on the much scarier one in "I need to support my family" land.  

You just want to get off.

You complain a lot about your husband to friends - but truth be told he has been a decent provider.  But jeopardize that and now its even worse living in this marriage.  He isn't handling himself so great in this time of stress - and lots of character on both your ends are coming through.  The scary thing is - You have been here before - on this ride a few times before.  And by the skin of his teeth - something has always come up.  You wanted him to be a 9-5 paycheck player.  He didnt want that.  He wanted the big bucks of self employment.  You trusted him, and feel let down....again.  

You asked the cosmos the other day if it was so wrong to just want just enough money coming in to cover things.  That maybe you could tolerate much more of the coaster's ups and downs if the money part of your life was over in Kiddie Town riding of top of a slow pony that just walks in circles and takes it easy.  That might even make the coaster exciting!  You long to whine and complain about things that women often express without having to hear your friends complaints and wanting to slap them silly -because YOU....YOU have REAL PROBLEMS!  

You feel useless, unappreciated, alone, and sad.  

When does this freakin' ride stop!  You want to ride that damn slow pony!

Pick yourself up girl.  This too shall pass.  And hopefully in a short time, you can read this open letter to yourself, from yourself - and write a post entitled - "I got off the ride, rode the pony, but got bored, and now I am back to coasters!"  Or even - "Bitching about the things in my life that don't matter, care to join?"

For now, just breathe, and bite your freakin' tongue.

Keep in touch, and have a bitchin summer.

Yourself

Today is the day...

Well - I did it.  I have officially jumped onto the "mommy blogging" bandwagon.  I hear its nice in there -and that they have cookies.  We'll see - only time will tell.  I should probably start off with a little blurb about myself...I mean - I myself may be the only one who sees this - but in the off chance that someone else does - I should properly introduce myself.

I am a 30 year old mom to three kids.  One boy - a first grader, and two girls, ages 4 and 2.  For the record - I was done at 2 - so I lovingly refer to my third as my "after school special."  I have been married for almost 9 years and not always happily.  We have had a bumpy road - but I am still in it, with few scars to show for.  I own a dog - a French Bulldog - who seems to know me better than my husband does, but before you go Ceasar Millan on my ass - realize that I am aware of how ridiculous that sounds - it's JUST a dog.  But lets put it this way... if they ever come up with a pill that dogs can take, and as a result they can speak english - I will have to kill him.  He just knows too much.  I stay at home, loving it and hating it at the same time.  Going back to work actually scares me - I mean - I'm not ready to give up my gym time and the privilege of grocery shopping at 11am just yet.   Don't get me wrong I fully appreciate being able to stay home, but it's not all fun and games.  My husband is constantly on a salary roller coaster - and though he has been an excellent provider, we have often had lucky days right before we lost it all.  This phenomena has raised my stress level so high that I think it may have even shaved years off my life.  

I am not an ultra liberal or conservative mom, I simply choose my battles.  I adore my children but am not afraid to tell the ugly side of being a mom (though all in all there are few of those). Personally, I sometimes say more than I should and can have a tendency to be a little "too honest."  I am a bit obsessed about my weight - and have lots of opinions - but that is why this blog thing may work out.

In a perfect world - Confessions of a Goldfish Snacker can evolve to be a place where moms can come and comment or offer advice in an anonymous setting.  Wouldn't that be nice?  

I mean, after all, you KNOW we all snack on those friggin goldfish when the kids aren't looking.