Careful what you ask…

Me:          “Babe, what is one thing I do that drives you crazy?”

from www.psychologytoday.com

AMP:        “Um…nothing.”

Me:          “No, really… What do I do that drives you crazy?”

AMP:       “Nothing, you are perfect.”  He says this with complete sincerity – a testament to 3 year of training marriage.

Me:                “Seriously, it’s one of the Writing Workshop prompts for this week so I need you to tell me what I do that drives you crazy so I know what to write about.”

AMP:       “You don’t do anything to drive me crazy.  You are amazing.”

Exasperated sigh on my end, but I decide not to push it.  A few minutes later…

AMP:       “You could write about how it drives me crazy how you can’t sleep with the light on, so I can’t read at night.”

Me:          “There you go, I told you that you could come up with one thing!”

AMP:       “Or how it drives me crazy that you leave your basket of shampoos and stuff in the shower.”

Me:                “Um…ok.”

AMP:       “Or how it drives me crazy that your clothes are all over the floor and all over the dresser.  Or how you sleep-in all the time.”

Me:      “I think I liked your original answer best.”

What would it take..?

Image via Wikipedia

I’m addicted to the Home & Garden Network.  I watch more than just the decorating shows… my favorites are really those shows where other people are looking to buy a home, and I get to peek in at what homes look like in different cities, and how much they cost.  In some places the house prices are ridiculously low – at least compared to where I live.

So, I fantasize about moving to those places – to owning a ‘dream’ home with a much smaller mortgage than we currently are straddled with.

I think if I picked a place and told AMP that I wanted to move there, and could find us jobs, he’d do it.  In a heartbeat.  Well, as long as it was finacially feasible, after all I’m married to an accountant.

I, on the other hand, prefer to fantasize.  Because, push come to shove it would take a whole hell of a lot to make me move… like the ability to move my entire family (or at least the members I like), definitely my nieces, and my best friends.  Or, in lieu of that, to own a private jet that would cost me nothing to travel back and forth at a moment’s notice.

As much as my family may drive me crazy, I could not imagine living far away from them.  I like how I can just ‘drop by’ and have lunch with one of my aunts.  I love the afternoons spent at my parents place.  I love coffee dates with cousins.  Or girl’s nights with friends I’ve known since I was 8.

I don’t like change.  I’m not good at meeting new people and making new friends – hence why my strongest friendships are with people I’ve known forever.   

Which means my options are:
a) Convince all my family to move with me to wherever I decide
b) Find someone to gift me a private jet, plus pay all related costs
c) Stay here, and just live vicariously through my shows

I think I’m going to be here a while…

 

This post inspired by Mama Kat’s Writing Workshop: What would it take for you to pick up and move?  Go visit and read some amazing posts. :)

 

A lecture…

We were driving home.  We had spent the last two-and-a-half-weeks together on our honeymoon.  The first time ever that we’d spent every waking moment together. 

I don’t remember why we were fighting… isn’t that the way it always is?

I know I was tired.  I wanted to be home, in our bed.  Not travelling any more.

I’m racking my brain, and I still can’t think of how we got to this… but, I remember telling AMP to shut up.

He flipped.

He told me how incredibly rude that phrase was.

That he would never ever tell me to shut up.

That you should respect someone enough to let them speak their mind…

That you should never ever tell someone to shut up…

And some other things that escape my memory at the moment.

I remember crying.  I remember being incredibly upset.  I remember apologizing.

I remember still being angry… but now chastised.

I remember thinking he was right.

It’s been almost three years, and since then, I can’t bring myself to say those words to anyone.  I try to listen when someone speaks, to give them the opportunity to speak. 

It’s been three years, and I don’t think I’ve said “Shut up”  since.

I was, I am, I will be…

Image from annabakurova.blogspot.com

I was a little girl, dreaming about love. 
I was a little girl playing house and babies. 
I was a teenager, writing poem after poem. 
I was a teenager, spending every waking moment dreaming about a boy; the boy who wasn’t interested, then the boy who wasn’t good, then the  boy who wasn’t right…
I was a young woman, fighting against constraints.
I was an adult, being treated like a child. 
I was being pulled in so many directions, that most days, I thought I was going to be split in half. 
I dreamed of being a woman – being in charge, being free…

I am a wife… married to the perfect man for me. 
I am a daughter… a good one, I hope.
I am a sister… a big sister, who doesn’t know what to say sometimes.
I am an aunt… with adorable nieces to spoil.
I am a friend… I fear, not a good one.
I am… pulled in so many directions.
I am a woman… not in charge…not free.

I will be…
Me.

Yes I can!

Image from www.yesicanproject.org

I feel like a failure… Again.

I’m full of goals, ideas, resolutions.. I’m brimming with hope for the thought of what is going to be…

But what am I doing for it now?

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

January is almost gone and I have not made it to the gym even once.  I have not figured out a way to make extra money or to pay down more debt.  I have not organized the house.  I have not avoided junk food like the plague.  I have not blogged more.

I have failed.

And it is beginning to depress me.

But, I can’t let it do that.  I need to change my attitude.  To leave the past in the past and to look forward from today.  To say “Yes I can!” 

I can become healthier.

I can lose weight and have the body I want.

I can pay down debt.

I can write more.

I can reach my goals.

Because, the thing is, if I don’t think “Yes I can” I definitely won’t.

This post inspired by Writing Workshop at Sleep is for the Weak.

media-ing

Image via CrunchBase

I haven’t jumped on the Twitter bandwagon.  In reality, the only social media vices I have are: my personal Facebook account, and well, this blog. 

I spent a lot of time fighting the Facebook thing.  And, then one day I just gave in.  It seemed like a good way to keep in touch with friends and relatives far away – and then a good way to catch up with high school, even elementary school friends – and then a good way to stalk people’s lives and always know what’s going on. 

And, then there was blogging.  I used to have a Windows Live Space, back when I was a teenager.  And, then I started another blog a few years ago, which a few friends had access to.  Then, I decided on anonymity and ditched that blog and started The Undomestic Housewife.  

And, that’s not why I started this… I started this to have an outlet.  And, somewhere along the way I was blessed with finding a few friends – people who care enough to read my ramblings, and to post a comment, a thought of encouragement.  I love that I have a place where I can be me – freely, without censoring.  

And, last night, as I was rattling on to AMP about buttons and stats and ads and popularity and comments – I realized, I may be getting addicted to this blog. 

I love the chance of writing my thoughts… but I’ve begun to spend a little more time each day obsessing about stats, my lack of brilliant post ideas, genius post titles, my hunger for popularity and recognition… 

And, yes, it would be pretty cool to be as popular as Mama Kat or Kris @ Pretty All True… but, that’s not why I started this… And I need to remember that when I start obsessing about whether I should start a Twitter account to attract more visitors to my blog…

Inspired by prompt no. 5 at Mama Kat’s – How has social media changed you?

P.s. About the Twitter thing – anyone have any opinions on whether its worth me trying…?

“I told you so!”

Ninety-nine point nine percent of the world will not admit to getting satisfaction from saying “I told you so.”

Often, the phrase is prefaced with “I hate to say it…” or “I don’t want to say it but…” 

In reality, everyone loves it – they love the validation.  It brings them satisfaction; the sort of satisfaction that can only be tempered when the action they warned against brings tragedy or pain to a loved one.  And, even then, there’s still that niggling voice at the back of the mind saying, “they should have listened.  I did tell them.”

I found myself using that phrase last night – “I wish you had listened to me” to AMP, and now in the cold glare of the morning, I wish I could take my words back.  One of AMP’s personality quirks is his absolute hatred for being told what to do.  It snaps into rebellious five-year-old mode instantaneously.  I know that.  And, I’m like that too. 

Remember the story about Bob?  The quick version is this:
Bob and I started dating when I was 17.  My parents, for many reasons, forbade me from seeing him about six months into our relationship…I rebelled, because basically I don’t like being told what to do, and prolonged the relationship for a year and a half, though somewhere three months into the ‘forbidden’ part of our relationship I began to have niggling doubts about whether the relationship was a good idea.

Fortunately, my rebellious streak was not self-destructive.  When I finally realized that Bob and I definitely wouldn’t work – I did end it.  But, it took me a little time.  Why?  Because I didn’t want to hear the “I told you so”.  And, I did.  Sure, it was veiled with, “We know best because we are older,” and “we just wanted what is best for you, and we could see the danger…”  blah blah blah.

The thing is, like AMP, I’d rather come to my own conclusions.  If they had left me to my own devices, the relationship would have ended a year sooner than it did. 

The point to this incessant rambling is, yes, sometimes we are right, and expressing our opinions has its place, but we need to let people make their own choices – and who knows, we may be pleasantly surprised. 

This post is inspired by prompt no. 5 at Mama Kat’s – “I told you so.”

what is my inspiration?

I’m determined to get back on the wagon this week – the Writing Workshop one.  I’ve missed writing regularly (or somewhat regularly) on my blog – and need to my life back to some sense of normalcy.  For me, that includes writing.

The workshop prompts were hard for me this week.  I’d already written about the friendship one several times – and I’m not feeling creative enough for the ‘reliving a moment in your life’. 

So, I decided to go with prompt number 4 – What inspires you to write?

I don’t remember the first time I wrote a poem, or a story, or anything.  I know that I have notebooks from my teenage years, all filled with poems – some happy, some sad.  I know that I kept a diary – which got me into trouble more times than I can count (note to self: if trying to hide something from the parents, don’t write about it and leave the writing in your room!).

I know why I write – to get the words out that are jumbled in my head, to find some peace – but what inspires me to do it?

I have no idea.

Is it maybe wanting to have one talent – one thing I’m good at – that inspires me to pick up the pen and scribble down my thoughts?

Is it a distant (and probably unrealizable) dream of wanting to have a book of my own – with my name on the front – for the world to read? 

Or wanting to be like the millions of authors whose books I devour – wanting to be special and known for something? 

I don’t know… All I know is, no matter what is my inspiration – writing is my escape – it’s a part of me – it’s something I have to do.

Why I’m Scared of Hairdressers…

I have a phobia of hairdressers.  There are very few I let near my hair to do anything more than trimming it. 

The reason for this goes back about 15 years or so.  See, I have unruly curly hair.  Seriously, I can’t get my hair to do anything I want with it. It’s frizzy and temperamental, and well, I spend most of the time pulling it into a ponytail.

Well, when I was young, I decided I had enough, and convinced my mom to let me cut my hair short.  I don’t know what she was thinking, because clearly short, unruly curly hair actually equals into an Afro… But she didn’t argue with me, and off to the hairdresser we went. 

This hairdresser was an Italian woman that my family all went to.  I explained I wanted a shorter hairstyle that was easier to maintain.  She nodded, pulled my hair into a pony-tail and chopped the pony-tail off, and voila she was done.  Edward Scissorhands could have done a much better job…

But, two horrible seconds – and it took me over a year to grow my hair out to a non-Afro like style, and well, I still have nightmares to this day… I’d post a picture of how horrible it was, but well, I’ve destroyed all pictures… (Not really, but I did hide them and have no idea where they are!) 

And, that’s my hair disaster, as inspired by prompt no. 4 at Mama Kat’s.

Facing the Sun

Helen Keller (via Wikipedia)

Not surprisingly, prompt 5 at Mama Kat’s resonated with me this week.  The prompt is:

“Keep your face to the sunshine and you can not see the shadow” – Helen Keller.  In what ways are you able to stay positive about something that sometimes brings you down?

I’ve written a lot about the miscarriage.  I’m sure everyone’s tired of hearing about it, as I am tired of thinking about it.  The words, though, bounce in my head, and they need an outlet.  Especially now.  My due date would have been November 5^th – only a week and a half from now.  As I watch the many pregnant women who surround me, and those who have just had their newborns, I can’t help but be sad – that should be me sharing ultrasound pictures, researching cribs, debating names, taking maternity photos, complaining about how impatient I am to have the baby here.  But it’s not.  And I have to learn to accept that.

I’m not a believer in destiny.  I don’t think everything happens for a reason.  I think that the scripture at Ecclesiastes 9:11 is true, ‘time and unforeseen occurrences befall us all.’  Losing the baby wasn’t a part of some master plan.  But, it happened.

Right now. I’m going crazy with baby fever.  I know part of it is the miscarriage, the other part is just me wanting to have a baby – to have a little being that’s half of me and half of AMP.  But, that’s not an option right now.  So, how am I going to stay positive?

By remembering that I have an amazing, kind, wonderful husband whom I absolutely adore – and he loves me more than anything in this world.  By cherishing the moments we have together right now, without a baby.  By strengthening our relationship before we take that giant leap.  By doing all the things people complain about not being able to do once they have kids: sleeping in, lazy Sunday afternoons spent in bed, traveling just as a couple, getting into shape.  By being the best me I can be, before I devote myself to being a mom… Before I put every ounce of energy into that little being. 

I’m not over the miscarriage.  I’m not over the desire to have a baby – but I’m more positive now.  I’m positive that one day, AMP will be ready to have a child, or as ready as we can ever be.  I’m positive that it’ll be better then, because he’ll be happy to hear the news, not shocked and sideswiped.  And I’m positive that one day, I’ll hold a little baby in my arms, and it’ll be ours.