Secret Mommyhood Confession

I judge.

That’s right.  I’m a judgey judgerson.

Don’t be all nervous.  I am not judging you.  right now.  Chances are I did though.  When I first met you or read your blog or emailed with you or read a comment you left.

Some people call it “first impressions”.  That is just a nice way of saying “judged”.

I think we all do it, am I wrong?

I mean, I fairly certain my brain is hardwired to make a judgment the first time I “meet” someone.   Isn’t everyone’s?

We all know how I judged every person in the Olive Garden a couple weeks ago.  And as many of you said in the comments, it’s all about making first impressions.

I started thinking about that, and I realized that I judge everyone and everything…at least once.  And I have been beating myself up over it.

For example, this morning I went to Shoe Carnival to get myself some cute black shoes to go with the outfit I want to wear tonight to Cort’s cousin’s wedding.   I judged everyone in there on what they were wearing.

I immediately put it out of my head (because I am not a total jerk), but for a split second, my mind took in what they had on, what kind of shoe they were looking at, and even how their kids were acting.

Admittedly, the woman with the tatrumy toddler?  I gave her the “oh honey…you are so brave” look.  But my FIRST thought?  “Ugg…screaming kid” because I had just left one of those at home.

And I know people were judging me too.

I have a zit colony the size of DC on my jowl chin and I hadn’t done my hair except for a messy bun.  I was wearing an old hoodie (in an attempt to be bulky enough in the collar to cover up my zit colony) and blow out boots (yes, I bought new boots).

If I saw me?  My first thought probably would have been, “it’s Saturday, not Slopperday” and then I would have immediately dismissed it.

But I left the house that way anyway.  Because hopefully, people are like me, they  judge and dismiss…unless given a reason not to.

I know people who are all like, “I totally withhold ALL judgment until I get to know a person,” and I have to call BS on that.  How can you not make SOME sort of immediate judgment when you first encounter someone either in person or in the blog world?

We size up what someone is wearing.

We hear the way they talk…the words they choose.

We see people’s writing.

We know what they choose to share.

I think because I know I do this, I am assuming everyone else does too.  That is probably why it is a very rare thing for me to be caught shopping in my pajamas.  Yoga pants and sweat shirt, sure, but not my jammies and slippers.

I am also conscious of it on my blog.

Sure I write for me.  But to say I ONLY write for me is a total lie.  I write for you too.  I like you. I like what you have to say.  So I think about YOU when I write.

And I always think, “what if this is the first post a new reader sees?”

Because I know blogging is a fickle place.  If I visit a blog for the first time and I am overwhelmed with ads or widgets in the side bars or music is blasted at me or if the content is hard to read or if the content is boring…I am probably not coming back.

And I know you are that way too.

I judge.

And you do too.

It’s how we know we like someone or don’t.

It’s how we decide to follow a blog or not.

It’s the reason first impressions are important.  Because I the world is judging.

Now pardon me…I have a zit colony to expunge.

Revised to Say….

I don’t mean to sound like all judging results in negative decisions.  We judge things based on what we see/read/hear, but then we make decisions based on those judgments.  Not everyone that I “judge” is deemed a bad person/mom.  Most of the time it’s just the opposite.  In fact, unless you prove you’re not wonderful, I judge that you probably are!

Secret Mommy-hood Confession Saturday

This bothers a bunch of my family and friends but…

I don’t do the telephone.

I hate it.

Talking on the phone for non-business reasons gives me hives.

Ok, to be honest, I am not a fan of making business-type calls either.  But when I can have a script in my head of what is going to be said by me and then by the person on the other end?  I am better than just a friendly call.

Most people think I am just being silly when I tell them to text or email me, and they call me anyway.  And they go to voicemail.  And they get a text back.

I am serious, people.

I don’t do the phone.

Yes, I will return parent phone calls at work and occasionally make calls to parents when it’s necessary.  But I prefer email or face to face.

The only person…and I mean ONLY person…I do not feel weird with on the phone is my mom.  I call her ALL THE TIME.  Probably because she is my mom.  I don’t need a script with her.

But even with Cort…I prefer an email if I am at work or a text if I am elsewhere.

It doesn’t help that I HATE to be on the phone outside of my house even more than I hate being on the phone inside my house.

I don’t hear people well on the phone…that could be another one of my issues.  And because it’s the phone I can’t figure out what they are saying by gestures of facial expressions.

Yes, I have had my hearing checked, and even after the years of loud concerts it is perfect.

So I don’t know.

I don’t even like to call for pizza or Chinese food.

It is that bad, people.

Cort tries to MAKE me call sometimes, but it’s of no use.  I will change my mind about dinner just so I don’t have to call for it.

(On a side note:  God bless online ordering.)

I am just better in writing.

Writing gives me time to think…to pick just the right words.

I like to think I am great at communicating in writing.

On the phone (and even sometimes in person)?   Not so much.

I am awkward.

So now there are people out there who are begging me to get on skype.

What are you trying to do to me, people?

this is not about the Olive Garden

This weekend Cortney and I went out for a much needed date.

In fact I am pretty sure the last date we went on was for his birthday.  At the beginning of December. So to say this was much needed?  Is really kind of an understatement.

ANYWAY…

For Christmas two alumi of mine gave Cort and I gift cards to the Olive Garden–one of our favorite chain restaurants–and we figured it’s the weekend before Valentine’s Day, we should go out.

Now considering we were going to the Olive Garden, I didn’t feel the need to put on a dress and strappy sandals and make an appointment to get my hair and nails done, but I did put in extra effort.

I took a shower AND dried my hair with a hairdryer AND curled it.

And for effect?  I stuck a cute flower in my hair.

See?

oh hey!

We both wore our nice, dark wash jeans.  Cort wore a button down that I gave him for Christmas, and I wore a cute sweater from the Gap.

Nothing super fancy, but not my yoga pants.

I figured this is what people do when they go out for dinner to any place that has a hostess and serves wine.

I would be wrong.

People?  I am not saying that you need to wear your Sunday Best to a chain restaurant, but I did think that clean clothing was sort of a given.

Again, I would be wrong.

When we arrived at The Olive Garden, there was a 40-50 minute wait.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  And we were out for the night, so regardless of if we were sitting at a table or sitting in the lobby, we were still playing on our phones enjoying being alone together.

A 40-50 minute wait will give you a lot of people watching opportunities.

For instance, did you know that apparently wearing an old valour sweat suit with worn out patches at the knees and elbows is totally proper attire for dining at The Olive Garden?

Or that it is completely acceptable to wear tights (not leggings, people.  TIGHTS) as pants with a “dress” (um, SHIRT), is so short your cheeks are not covered…to the Olive Garden?

Perhaps you were aware that wearing hats (ball hats, stocking hats, cowboy hats…) are ok to wear INSIDE the Olive Garden…while you eat.

I was clearly ignorant of the fact that I could have come to the Olive Garden in my pajamas…slippers and all…for this dining experience because a couple times Cort had to give the shush and and tell me to get my jaw off the ground and quit staring.

When our little disc light up happily announcing it was our turn to be seated, I breathed a sigh of relief.  Maybe we would be put into a nice little romantic corner.  Away from…the fashion police rejects.

Or we would be eating at that table right there that is within reach of the lobby.

No problem.  I will sit with my back to them.  Cort is more tolerant.  He can stare at that herd.

We decide to sample a Riesling.

I settle into my chair.

Only to observe the table over Cort’s shoulder.

A mom wearing the largest pair of mom-jeans I have ever seen on such a skinny body tucked into the biggest moon boots ever topped with a massively huge Bon Jovi T-shirt.  Across from her was a dad with those dude jeans that are all tight around the ankles, but all “loose fit” everywhere else and a GIANT Red Wings jersey.  And a hat.

Their two kids?  Were totally cute.

I understand just wanting to get out of the house with clothes on.  Especially when you have two itty bitty kids.

But shouldn’t your look reflect where you are?

Or am I a snob?  Is it wrong that I was visually offended at the “going out” clothing people deem acceptable these days?

I mean I GET the “come as you are” at McDonalds or Wal-Mart or even Target.  I’ve been that girl getting groceries in my yoga pants and a hoodie.

But I feel like I’ve seen enough episodes of What Not To Wear to know that you need to dress for the occasion.

Yoga pants for home?  Ok.

But at the Olive Garden?

Really?

Or is that joint not as classy as I thought?

Secret Mommyhood Confessions

This week has been a roller coaster for me as evidenced by my up and down posts this week.  In the middle of said coaster, I was directed by The Empress to go read a post by Melanie on Bronx to Boulder. And when the Empress tells all the world to do something?  You do it.

I totally related to Melanie’s post about blogging being a bit like high school–not knowing who your “circle” of friends is.

And then, the lovely Gigi posted about questioning your blogging.  Amazing.  Again it was EXACTLY what I had been going through lately.

Because friends?

My name is Katie, and I have low blog esteem.

It’s true.  I have been fighting it like crazy and telling myself I don’t care about numbers or comments…I am here to WRITE!

Yeah, right.

I’ll just admit right now that I love it when people read my words.  Love it.  Getting comments is like a little high..once you’ve had that high, you want it over and over.

I have been blogging for almost four years.  Just my family and friends read for the first three years.  If I got a comment, I about had a heart attack.  Oh there were some faithful friends (Missy, Trisha) who would leave me a little love here and there, but I mostly wrote just because I wanted to.

And then you all found me (I won’t lie, twitter helped with this. So if you are all new to blogging?  GET ON TWITTER!).

Since that day I have been struggling with my confidence as a blogger.

You see, I have read the “big blogs,” I have swapped stories and comments and twitter love with some bloggers who–in my eyes–are wildly successful.

I have found myself thinking that I am “friends” with a group of people only to notice that they have jokes I know nothing about.  Or they are all DM-ing each other on twitter, while my direct message column sits empty.

I have had posts I write explode with comments only to have a week go by where you would think my blog fell off the interwebs.

I have (foolishly) stared at my analytics to see if I am getting more readers.

And I have compared my writing to some of the best (again, foolishly).

Up until recently, I thought everyone in the blog world was lovely and friendly and just great.  People?  This is not the case.

I have learned of backstabbing and using and lying and stealing and gossiping and hurt.

I liked it better when I was naive and didn’t know there were “mean girls” in the blog world.

I never went into blogging thinking I could make a name for myself or get a book deal.  I just like to write.

More often than not, I have to remind myself of that.

Because I have become addicted.  Addicted to the comments.  To the community.  To the hope of finding real friendships.

And this addiction has left me uncertain.

Am I good enough to hang with the great writers?

Do I deserve the recognitions that people do give me?

Will those readers be back tomorrow?

Should I be doing more?

But in the end?  It really doesn’t matter.  I do love to push myself to be better for you, but really I am here for me.

And the only person I am really competing with here is myself.

Secret Mommyhood Friendship Confession

This week’s confession is something I have been thinking about A LOT this week, which means poor Cortney has had to listen to it a LOT this week.

I don’t understand, therefore I am not good at, female friendships.

At least not the ones that require me to be involved in them on a daily basis.

That sounds bad.

Here is my deal:  I suck at being a way involved friend in REAL life.

My best friend lives in Chicago.  Since high school, we have never lived close enough to hang out regularly.  We send each other random, funny cards.  We text each other.  We email.  We facebook.  We tweet.  But we don’t see each other a ton.

And our friendship is awesome.  It was awesome in high school too, but it’s still like that.

I really do care and love ALL my friends a TON.  But my level of involvement as far as planning things and hanging out?  Totally sucks.  I’m not good at it.

Also?  I don’t like to “mix” my friend groups.  I like my high school friends separate from my college friends separate from my work friends, etc.  Yes, that is all OCD of me, but when they mix, dynamics change and I get anxiety.

Plus?  I tend to be honest.  I assume when you ask me my thoughts on someone, you want the real answer.  I don’t try to be cruel, but if you ask me about something bothersome, I’ll tell you.

I mean, I assume no one has PERFECT friends, right?  We all have something that bugs us about each of our friends, right?  There are the friends who suck at returning emails.  There are those who seem to be “one-uppers” and always have something worse happening than you do.  There are those who seem to lack any sort of common sense.

But we still love them because they are our friends.

(by the way, I am sure one of the main irks my friends find with me is that I am never available except online, but that is a guess).

Let me give you an example.  Cort and I have a male friend who is pretty cheap.  He likes to hold onto his money.  He knows this; we can say it and he doesn’t get mad.  BUT if I had a female friend who was cheap?  And she found out I thought she was cheap?  She would get mad.  Even though SHE IS CHEAP. But the thing is?  I would love her despite her cheapness.

sigh…

Anyway, what I am trying to say is, I love my friends fiercely…really.  But sometimes, I am afraid they get all mad and drama-ish because of something I say or plans I can’t make.  And I don’t get that.

Cortney and his friend Mat have often referred to me as Elaine from Seinfeld.  There is an episode where she is crabbing about not having many female friends–that she just doesn’t “get” them.  They respond that she is a “man’s woman”–that she just does better being friends with men because there aren’t any hidden codes or drama.

Yes.  This is me.

But I do treasure the female friends I have.  They are so much more supportive–verbally–than guys are.  They can sense my hurt and they know what to say.  They feel my joys and say more than, “cool”.

But I just suck at understanding those women and what they want from me.

I like to laugh.  I like to talk about serious stuff.  I like to know I can trust someone.

I don’t like to try to figure out what “someone means by that”.  I am not good with passive aggressive statements and code.

So many women talk about others behind their backs like they don’t want the subject to know…why?  When I say something about someone, it’s something I would tell them to their face if they asked.

But who asks, “what do I do that is annoying to you?”  because we don’t want to know!

I don’t want to hear that I suck as someone who will show up to planned events.  I know this.  I would hope my friends know this about me and love me anyway.

I guess what this whole ramble is about is that I just don’t get it. I grew up with brothers.  If they thought I was being a turd?  They told me.  And I told them if they were being lame. I am this way with everyone in my life.

If you are ever mad at me?  You should probably just tell me…because I have no clue. If I sense crabby or passive-aggressive anger from you?  I will just let it be because I don’t have the time or energy to “figure out” what I did to you.  JUST TELL ME.

And I hope you love me anyway…even for my faults.  Because I love you despite your faults.

McFatty…trying again…again.

I feel like every dang time I am here I am either reporting weight gain or back to square one and starting over.

Sigh…

For each of you who commented that last week’s five pound weight gain was the fault of the Evil Lady Week?  I think you were right.

This morning the scale was at 197.  That is six pounds down from last week.  So the Evil Lady Week bloat minus a pound is gone.

The loss of a pound I attribute to being sick this week.

So, that puts us back to 198.  Which is where I was when I started this thing originally.  Again.

I am still cooking healthy meals and taking healthy lunches.

I have committed to chugging as much darn water as possible.  So far it’s not NEARLY as much as I would like, but I am building.  My goal is to cut out soda almost completely.  Even though I drink diet coke, it still causes unneeded bloat.  And it MAY not be that good for me.

Now that my doc has given me Ambien, I am set on getting good sleep so I can find the energy to exercise 3 times a week.  As many of you commented on this post, a good way to kick some of the depression is to MOVE MY BOOTY.  I totally agree.  Time is definitely a factor, but because Cort and I both get in free to the Ford Field House in GR, we are going to try to get there on my days off.  Other than that I am yet again RE-COMMITTING to using that treadmill in the basement.

no, really.

I AM.

quit laughing.

ahem.

So, let’s recap:

  • continue healthy eating (please ignore the chalupa I had tonight)
  • more water
  • better/more sleep
  • more butt moving and less butt sitting.

My first weigh in for Healthy Train is Feb 4.  That is only 3 weeks away.  I really want to have SOMETHING significant lost…even if it just means that I am not constantly swinging back to fricking 198.

Here we go…again.

Sometimes? My Kid is a Jerk

Tonight sucked.

Well it didn’t.  It was actually pretty great.  In fact, I was about to throw out a celebratory tweet or facebook update about how great of a mom I was tonight and how I rocked the socks of the home alone with Eddie while Cort had class deal.  Good thing I didn’t.  I would have been eating my words.

Cort left and we played for about 30 minutes and rocked out to some Little Einsteins.

I made dinner. We had mac n cheese and fruit salad.  Eddie scarfed down his pineapple and guava, but left the red papaya sit on his plate.  no biggie…he had a second helping of my awesome homemade Kraft mac n cheese.

Then we played some more until bath time…which is always a good time.

He helped me wash his hair (a new thing) by scrubbing with me and then pouring water over his head–rinsing all the pineapple juice and banana puree that he had managed to massage in at dinner.

After a quick dry off–he ran amok in the nude for a bit while playing a tambourine.

He even LET me put his diaper and jammies on him.

And in an unusual change of events, he even wanted to read books and snuggle through all of Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy (yes, we watch this before bed…it’s family friendly programing…and it’s educational.  Plus Eddie loves the music and clapping with the studio audience).

So the final credits rolled on Jeopardy, and I said, as usual, “Say goodnight to Louis.”

and he waved to the cat (as usual).

We rocked and sang and cuddled.

I put him in bed.

Then?  It’s like someone threw citric acid on the whole night.

We have had many, many, MANY great nights of me putting him to bed.

Tonight?  Was not one of them.

He cried.  Hard.

I rocked him.  Put him back to bed.

He cried.  HARDER.

I went in his room.  No pipey.  just tears and the shakey thing that happens when they can’t catch their breath from crying.

So I went and found the back-up pipey since his was no where to be found.

He was sort of warm, so I gave him some tylenol, rocked him, and put him back down.

Then there were cries like someone was eating his face.  They were awful.

I went in.  He stopped crying.  Just pointed.

No pipey.  I couldn’t find it anywhere.  He was all awake and chatty and so, in frustration, I set him out of the bed so I could look.

Neither pipey was ANYWHERE.

Dude.  And he just laughed and ran out of the room.

Damnit.

He was doing this crap on purpose.

He was being a JERK!

My kid was exhibiting jerk-like behavior!

I lost my…well…shit.  I lost my shit.

I didn’t want to yell at him, so I cried.  And cursed under my breath.

I sat that way for a few minutes while he went around chirping and playing with toys.

Then I marched into his room and tore that nursery from end to end until I found one of the pipeys.

I gave it to him, marched him back to his room, rocked him, and put him down.

It took TWO HOURS, loads of tears, and a number of swear words, but my kid is sleeping.

Wait…maybe I spoke too soon….