Little Girls, Little Girls, everywhere I look....I can see them

Been there.  Every morning. 

Elizabeth assures me I'd make an excellent Miss Hannigan.  "You sound just like her!"

(Hmm.  Scream much, Jaci?)

Unfortunately, Miss Hannigan and I would have been BFF's sitting around her bathtub, dipping into the gin and screaming at the kids to "Go find something to do!  WE'RE TALKING HERE!"  Then we'd show off our best Charleston moves and assure each other that our gams still look great, damn it.  And maybe--if we drank enough--we'd go scratch "Money Can't Buy Me Hair" into Mr. Warbuck's Duesenberg.

(I had to Google that--I thought it was called a "Doozleberg".  And Google was all like, "What the hell?  You just stumped me.  Here's a sticker."  Then I searched "Doozleberg car" and Google reached through the screen to smack me and scream, "DUESENBERG YOU UNEDUCATED MORON.  GIVE ME BACK MY STICKER.")  

Auditions are the first weekend in March...in a town an hour away.  The logistics of making practice holds me back more than my inner Mean Girl pointing and laughing.  I couldn't make it there before 8.

Instead I'll annoy my children by loudly singing around the house and totally ignoring their meltdowns.  "Little girls, little girls..."

Old picture, but it still sums up my days: one screaming, one bouncing off the walls.

Get Back! I'm Evolving

I've been incredibly restless.

I'm longing to change.  Grow.  Learn something new.  It's all very Eat, Pray, Love--minus the self-centered, spoiled, man-obsessed angst.

(And international travel.)

((And very large book advance.))

I've felt very purposeless plodding along between part-time office work and part-time SAHMdom, never really fitting into either place.  I'm lucky enough to be part of a great Mom's Group that meets for two hours every Friday (kid free!) and instead of talking with the other SAHMers, I felt so restless that I'd pace the halls.

I couldn't relate to the conversations.  I didn't feel "called" to be a Mom.  I couldn't care less about kid-centered issues.  Was this it?  Was this life?  A perpetual Groundhog Day of bottles and nap times and cooking dinner and picking up the playroom?  And being surrounded by other women who are perfectly satisfied with their Groundhog Days and can't relate when I say, "I don't know what I want but I know it's more than this"?

I came *this* close to auditioning for community theater.  I saw the notice for Annie and thought, "How fun!  That would be a perfect way to kill time until spring!  And maybe, I'd meet people other than moms and co-workers!  Maybe THE THEATER holds people who think like me and won't berate me or look at me stupidly when I say I WANT MORE THAN THIS!"

I printed out sheet music and practiced 32 bars of mezzo-soprano awesomeness before I woke up and thought, "How the hell would I manage play practice, a clingy baby, a bored 5 year old, and a husband who doesn't come home until 7?  And for what--the chance to play Mr. Warbuck's house maid #3?"

Oy.  What was I thinking?!?

 Besides, isn't that pulling an Eat, Pray, Love on a small scale?  Escaping life and reality and running off to "find myself" in...community theater?

Oh, geesh.  That's my version of Italy?  Wow, Jaci.  Way to dream big.

Ack!  Negative self-talk!  Scratch out!  SCRATCH OUT!

I died my hair back to brown.  I tell people it's because I couldn't afford highlights anymore, but it's really because I'm wildly bored.  I rearranged my living room.  I picked up my college French textbook and said sentences out loud.  Stuck.  Stuuuuck.

(And yes, I gave the blog a makeover--after taking it offline for a while.) 

Getting back to "finding myself"--I fully believe God put me here for a reason and my job is to find my purpose where I am.  I don't need a new job...or a new hobby...I need to learn to find joy right here.

I'm trying.

Now I Want Sake

Valentine's Day is predictable and lame and majorly re-re--but if you don't acknowledge it you feel sad in the pants and your inner Mean Girl points and laughs.

Ergo...even if you and Da Man agree that Valentine's Day is predictable and lame and majorly re-re and the holiday is dead to you...do something special anyway.  Examples:

- Make something for dinner that does not contain the words "casserole" or "surprise". 

- Set the table with more than just forks.

- Take a trip to the liquor store and buy something weird just because you can.  Sake, anyone?

- Clean the bedroom...or if that's a lost cause, make up a bed in some other room.  Kitchen?  Hey, at least you're close to the sake.

- Laugh and say, "Even though it's predictable and lame and totally re-re, I still want you to know I love you."

Whatever you do, DO NOT:

- Burst into tears at 11 pm because it's Valentine's Day and you secretly hoped Da Man would do something cheesy and special but he didn't because you both agreed it's predictable and lame and totally re-re and you knew you should have married your ex-boyfriend.

- Have a fight and storm out of the house with the bottle of sake and a pack of cigarettes and wind up in a parking lot crying to 80's love ballads on Delilah.

- Sigh while thumbing through your kids' Valentine's Day crap and tell them to enjoy it now, than stare wistfully into the distance. 

- Make a special evening because you expect something in return.  That's not love--that's manipulation.

The Princess Debates

Unless you canceled all forms of media for budget reasons (ahem), you're probably familiar with the Princess Protests going on in parenting circles right now.  Moms are fed up with the sea of ruffly pink girl clothes and painfully pink toy aisles and are accusing Cinderella of sexualizing our girls.

*eye roll*

I agree that Disney is ALL OVER the little girl market and it's hard to find things that aren't bedazzled with Princesses--but it's not impossible.  Moms are the ones slathering their girls' room in Pepto Pink and Sleeping Beauty bedding, not an evil Disney CEO.  It's Mom who buys the Princess dress up trunk...the hot pink kitchen set...the pastel Legos...the Belle bath towels.  Mom doesn't have to pick pink--but given the opportunity she usually does.

Even if Mom didn't buy it, her little girl would probably take her hair band and slap it on her forehead as a crown anyway.  Girls love Princess and dress up and frilly sequined 80's prom looks. Hey, 4 year olds are notoriously tacky.

Back to my point (if there is one): No one is holding a gun to Mom's head and forcing her to pick Princess!  We have entire stores dedicated to nothing but toys--I won't even talk about how our culture practically worships at the Idol of Childhood--and Amazon and Etsy and a billion teeny tiny specialized internet companies.  With a little bit of effort, I can easily find a neutral kitchen set or a career-themed dress up trunk or a de-hootchifying makeover kit for Barbie.  If my playroom looks like Walt Disney secretly fathered my children, well guess who screwed that one up?

The problem doesn't lie in the doll clutched in my kid's hand...

It's my fault for treating my daughter like a Spoiled Little Princess.

I applaud mothers for stepping back and saying, "Whoa!  This princess crap is getting crazy!" and wondering what impact this may have.  (Mindful, involved parenting is always going to get my support.)  But blaming the manufacturers for making the junk you bought is totally ridiculous. 

We have absolute control over what comes into our homes, even down to what's playing on the Idiot Box.  If Princesses are running wild, we can turn the TV off.  Stop buying the dolls.  Redirect her attention to something more fun.  And even better--get down on her level and talk about what's so appealing about a blond girl in a pink ball gown.


 

Stuck in a Winter Slump

My entire family now spends weekends huddled around the TV in stinky pajamas, either:  a.) napping,  b.) complaining, or c.) fighting.  It all started out with cold/flu issues--someone got sick and everyone else just hung out with them.  Then sitting around watching Bolt for the 10,000th time while Elodie scoots toward forbidden things and Elizabeth sucks her thumb and Kevin sprawls all over the floor like he's suffering death throes became our Family Pattern.

I hate it.


I'm out of ideas.  Around here, a family in winter has two options--go out to dinner or go shopping.  I think I must be turning into an Old Fart, because going out to eat isn't anywhere near the special treat it used to be.  I usually end up at a sticky table shouting to be heard and wrestling children back into their seats--or my meal comes and I'm like, "Ugh, I can make this better"--or everything is wonderful and the bill is outrageous and I feel guilty. 

Then there is shopping--or, as I like to call it--killing time looking at stuff with no intention of buying it.  We used to kill time buying stuff.  (Hello, credit card debt...and piles of junk now going in garbage bags as I declutter.)  Then we realized that was pretty dumb and now just look, which is infinitely more boring.  (And depressing.)

So...we stare at Netflix.

I know there are plenty of things we could do.  (Like shower.  That would help.)  Board games.  Make snow men.  Go to the library.  Bake muffins.  Spend hours fussing over duck a l'orange.  But my creativity and energy is totally sapped and I can't break the cycle of sloth.

I'm looking forward to spring...or even a couple days where it's not GRAY.  That would help.