Resting B-Face Vs. Resting D-Face

I don’t suffer from Resting Bitch Face, in fact I’m pretty sure I suffer from the exact opposite: my face looks like I’m constantly riding a unicorn over a rainbow into a ocean made of jello. I fight my ADD with REALLY trying to listen to people and try to look the part of being an engaged human.

And it’s not easy. It’s an active fight to keep my mind from wandering to marshmallows and ginger beer or the time I tried (and failed) to silently fart in 6th grade.

It’s truly an effort for me to look engaged, focused and happy when in social situations.

However my husband does suffer from this affliction: as his Resting Dick Face is STRONG. My husband is not afraid to look annoyed, bored, or sit in total silence with other people. All of which terrifies me. I thought this was a new phenomenon with him until I discovered his 2nd grade photo and discovered his RDF is REAL and has been there since day one.

So here’s my sweet husband living his best, most authentic 7 year old life and ACTIVELY trying to scowl for his 2nd grade picture:

 

When Husbands Fidget Spin.

My dear sweet husband went on a Fidget Spinner bender after having a few drinks. This is me explaining it to a friend.

ME: “If Devin buys another Fidget Spinner, I think it’s grounds for divorce.

Friend: “How many does he have?”

Me: “He told me he bought 7 but they seem to just keep coming.”

Friend: “7? WTF. I want one. Maybe he needed an extra one for his dong.”

Me: ” I meant to bring you one when we had dinner the other night. Devin claims he “forgot”. I think he didn’t want to part with it.”

Friend: “So he really doesn’t love me.”

ME: “He just loves Fidget Spinners more.”

Friend: “Dick.”

Me: “Don’t feel bad, I don’t even have my own spinner.”

Friend: “Wow. He doesn’t even love you. But 7 for himself. Amazing.”

Me: “He claims he was drunk when he purchased them. It’s so annoying to think you are getting a package and it’s your husbands 6th fidget spinner.”

Friend: “Screwed twice by a drunk Devin.”

Me: “I’m going to buy 7 dildos and be like, “What…I was drunk! …Wait, are fidget spinner’s dildos? Jesus. Now I’m confused.”

Friend: “If you do get 7 dildos can I at least have one of those?”

Me: “Sure. Next dinner party you will either get a fidget spinner or dildo.”

Friend: “It’s like Christmas!”

Me: “Covfefe!!!”

Insane Clown Texts from Dad

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My Dad recently sent a text that said “Soon to be ex manager of Resource Depot driven mad with hopeless longing.” Attached with a picture of him in the scariest clown mask I’ve ever seen. My first thought was, “Oh no. Dad’s gone full serial killer.”

When I called him it turns out he just wanted to quit his job so he could travel more. A strangely mundane story considering it’s my dad and a creepy ass clown mask is involved.

Our conversation continues:

Dad: “You should take it for Augie, it’s a really expensive looking mask.”

Me: “No thanks Dad, I don’t want Augie to grow up to be a murderer or worse an Insane Clown Posse fan.”

Dad*hearing nothing*: “What about for an early birthday present?”

Me: “As much as a four year old wants a used killer clown mask the answer is still no.”

Dad then lists other people he could give the clown mask to, including a pastor at his UU church, so I’m sure this will end well.

I did have some fun with the mask: I put the picture of my dad in the mask on his birthday cake captioned, “Never looked better.” Sooooo I’m sure I’m on some sort watch list at the Stop & Shop bakery. So far I’ve done a Golden Girls, Judge Judy & now scary clown cake. Each one promoted more & more concerned looks from the bakers.

Photo cakes: they might be the best & worst thing that ever happened to me.

 

My deep seated (slightly weird) love of Mr. Rogers

Mr Rogers is everything I wish I could be. He is the wind beneath my wings, my #parentinggoals and my personal hero. I love him in a non ironic, non hipster sort of way. I adore him the way sports people adore their sports idols. He’s my Micky Ruth.

I remember where I was when I heard he had passed. I was in science class my junior(ish) year of college. My science professor & I had worked out a nice mutual ignoring of each other, until she informed the class that he had died. I was immediately shook. My professor and I made rare eye contact and even rarer conversation about how sad we were.

Seriously, if you ever get a chance to go on a deep dive of Mr. Rogers you will not be disappointed. Start with the book: “I’m Proud Of You”  by Tim Madigan, it’s about a guy (Tim) going through a mid life crisis and he forms an unlikely friendship with Mr. Rogers. During his mid life crisis he realizes that he has never heard his father say “I’m proud of you.” and that has a lasting effect on his life. So he asks Mr. Rogers if he’s proud of him and Mr. Rogers tells him he’s very proud of him and then signs every letter they write to each other with I.P.O.Y. (I’m proud of you.). It’s such a great story. Tim also fully realizes the weirdness of a grown man asking another grown man to tell them they are proud of them but it so profoundly effected his life that it didn’t matter.

Honestly, I doubt Mr. Rogers ever thought about the weirdness. He just saw a need, did something wonderful and didn’t care if it was normal. He wasn’t normal. He was better then normal. He was helpful and kind and that’s all that mattered to him.

Also, this book does have a bit of a religious slant to it. As did Mr. Rogers. Truthfully, I don’t have a religious belief system. I don’t have an understanding of Universal Intelligence, higher power, a grasp of heaven or hell. Basically anything existential is above my pay grade. Not having a fully formed answer to the why and the how of the universe can sometimes be a lonely place. Particularly lately when it feel like the world is on fire and the death eaters are winning. When I start to feel pretty bummed about everything I remember Mr. Rogers. He existed. He was good and kind and wanted to help. And there are so many people like him. One of Mr. Rogers most famous quote talks about this need to remember the good:  “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping. To this day, especially in times of ‘disaster,’ I remember my mother’s words and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers — so many caring people in this world.”

The Dalai Lama states, “Our prime purpose in life is to help others, And if you can’t help them, at least don’t hurt them.” For me, Mr. Rogers is the best example of a helper. He gave his life to make children feel connected, less scared, and wanted them to know that he loved them just the way they are.

So as I worry for our children’s generation who seem to have so much more turmoil and uncertainty, I am comforted that Mr. Roger’s legacy continues. Our sweet children don’t get him physically but they will damn sure get his messages through the lives he’s so deeply & proundly touched.

So thank you, Mr. Rogers and I know where ever you are you are being the very best neighbor.

When clay figures go wrong

My son recently made a King & Queen clay figures. He wanted everyone to know one was male & one was female, hense the anotomy. I sent the pics to one of best friends.

Me: “Augie made a King & Queen. If you can’t tell who’s who he gave the Queen a HUGE vagina.”

JW: “How does he know what a vagina looks like?”

Me: “Him & Anna bathe together. Plus he’s a huge fan of that kid from Kindergarten Cop. Apparently the Queen is the Queen of India, we all know how she got that job.”

JW: “You’re offensive.”

Me: “I know, I shouldn’t slut shame a clay Queen snowman. With a HUGE vagina.”

JW: “Some of us have to birth humans naturally. Large vaginas happen. And matter.”

Edit to Add: *I fully support the BLM movement and am in no way making fun of it. *I guess I also support large vaginas but am kind of making fun of them.

School Photos round 2. Augie’s perfected the hungover Frat guy look.

Me: “School Photo. Augie looks progressively more hungover. He def. lost his real estate license.”

RE: “You’ll know when he hits rock bottom.’

Me: “Next year’s photo he’ll be shirtless.”

RE: “It’s always spring break in Augie’s book. Does he love wearing newsies caps?”

Me: “YES. And his new favorite thing to say is “Come at me, Bro.” I think I’m in trouble.”

RE: “You should get him shamrock tattoo for his next birthday.”

Me: “Done. I need someone in the family to have a tattoo equivalent to my 1998 butterfly tattoo.”

Conversations with Uncle Ryan. Continued…

Me: “Ryan, Do you mind watching Augie & Anna while I pick up Mom & Bob from the airport? Or you could grab them but it’s rush hour.”

Ryan *looking visibly upset*: “Jesus. That’s a tough call.”

Me: “Spending an hour with your niece and nephew or sitting in rush hour traffic?”

Ryan: “Yes…..No idea what’s worse….I guess I’ll choose the kids because you have snacks.”

Me: “Umm thanks…”

Ryan: *mutters under his breath* “You better have ice cream.”

My slightly above average parenting blog turns one.

It’s coming up on a year since I’ve started this blog. I know. Everybody calm down. No need to jump.

A full year. It’s funny because a year in I thought (much like motherhood) I would have a better understanding of what the hell I’m doing. Truth is I know way less now then when I started. Starting something is easy, it’s full of promise and newness. When you have a new baby your so full of love and delaruim, everything is exciting. I have never felt more content when 1st born was about 6 months (once the sleep deprivation faded), everything seemed so easy back then. So new and exciting.

It’s the same with writing or blogging. At first you’ve got a million stories and ideas and you strive to be funny and interesting. But as time wears on you start to start to feel like your just a butt wiper with a computer. How can I be interesting if most of my time is spent trying to negotiate who had which matchbox car first. I recently called my husband because I thought the size of my 2 year old’s poop was ASTONISHING. I contemplated taking a picture but know I am constantly straddling the line of sanity and need to check myself when I’ve gone too far. (But seriously, it was HUGE)

Anyways, how can anyone justify putting them selves out there when they are not living a life that doesn’t seem that interesting. Well, what I learned is; it doesn’t matter what others define as interesting. It matters what you define as interesting.

Truth is everybody has a story and most people want to share it. So let them. Let them share. And share your story. The happiest people in the world are the most connected to other people and writing and sharing is a way of connecting.

There was a very famous Harvard happiness study and that resulted in this : “The clearest message that we get from this 75-year study is this: Good relationships keep us happier and healthier. Period.” Not money. Not power. Not how many blog posts you have (damn it) or how many followers you get.

So have a voice. Share. Write. Connect.  Don’t get caught up in how many page views you got or how many shares an article had because in the end it doesn’t matter. What matters is the the connection you have to your family, friends & community.

Also, it’s never about how much you have but how much you give.

Thanks for reading. ❤️❤️❤️