October 2014, Month in Pics

Haven't posted a damn thing on this blog, but not because I've been sitting on my a$$!

So many things happened this month.

Our vacation to Punta Cana.... of course I took A LOT of pics.

Pumpkin Patching and Vampire Children....

 

Pumpkin Carving and Halloween.  This was the year of the SPIDER!

And oh yes, how could I forget, my other babies; my nails, which finally grew too long for me.  




And Tater spent the month building fat reserves for the winter, building Legos and custom kitchen cabinets, and celebrating the Giants World Series win!  Go Giants!

Good bye October!

-Shirley (Mama-Ruff)

35 Years Old and NOT! Pregnant

Today, I'm 35 years old.  Just 5 years ago on this day, I was pregnant with my first child at 30 years old.  Look at my goofy face at 30, not knowing all the sh!t that was in store for me.  How that little bun baking in the oven was about tip my world upside down and then rip it apart.  I had no idea how motherhood would enable me to see through the walls of Hell and send me back shivering with regret while I would revert back deep to my introverted shell where extended friends and family would barely see me for almost three years, while I tried to hide figure out this thing called motherhood.

And even through all the moments of utter chaos where I could barely hold on to my own sanity, where I could barely hang on before I burst into tears due to the jealousy that ensued over everyone else's calm babies --  and all I wanted to do was to Fast Forward 18 years and take a nap, somehow I broke out into full-on madness and decided to get pregnant AGAIN! 2 years later.  At 32, I was pregnant again.  We all do crazy things.  32 yrs --- that was my craziest year.

I'm happy to say that at 35 I am NOT crazy nor pregnant, and planning to keep it that way for the rest of my birthdays.  Every day gets a little easier with the Ruffians.  Hell - we can even go to restaurants now and we seem semi-civilized (although I'm still traumatized and my nerves start up whenever Hubs says, "Let's go out to eat!" ------> shudder & chills.)  Things are still not perfect, and they probably never will be. I'm OK with that... anything is better than the Hell I've seen.

I'm still not at the point where I would say, "I'd do it all again, if I had to." Because although I love my ruffians so much, at this time, I still wouldn't do it all again.  I'm the person who announced, "I will never drink again!" And actually didn't! 

And my mind still occasionally wanders into my deeply introverted and anti-social thoughts where I'm convinced that society somehow tricked me into thinking that having children ---and buying a house--- was a good idea.  I sit here today with two kids and two houses.  It's a lot of stress!  And apparently I handle stress very poorly.

Then again I tell myself of course it's a good idea, Shirley!  You're just suffering with the not-knowing-what-you've-got-until-it's-gone syndrome.  And I can only back this theory up by the pit in my stomach and feeling of overwhelming sadness I feel when Hubs says, "Let's go out to eat!  and leave the boys with your parents!"  Leave my babies?!  Why don't we just order in, instead?

So today I'm 35, and it has been my first birthday in 5 years that I didn't really need or desire a nap.  Look at my face at 35, it's been through Hell and back, but I feel like I'm looking at a refined 35 yr old who almost knows her stuff now vs. the goofy 30 yr old that I was. 

So as I blew out my candles this year, I didn't have any particular wish in mind.

Because I already got what I wanted.  I got out of Hell and that stress level is almost gone, and out of those ashes I now have two little Ruffians that although still drive me crazy, they're beginning to make me laugh more. And to me, life is about laughter......

........ and long, natural nails :)  --  I finally got that this year too!

Damn, I've come a long way.

Shirley (mama-ruff)

Word of the Day

Hello Boys and Girls,

Today's word of the day is

"Tare":  noun

Definition: An allowance made for the weight of the packaging in order to determine the net weight of goods.

Often used by a pediatric nurse trying to get my 3 yr old ruffian to stand on the evil! scale during his checkup, while he is adamantly defiant and hanging and clinging for dear life onto my legs like a baby monkey about to fall into a pit of fire! 

Used in a sentence (by the nurse): "How about we allow for the tare, and we weigh you on the scale with him and then you alone, and then get the difference?"

So I maneuver onto the scale in my wedged boots with the screaming monkey still permanently attached to my legs, and judging by the cacophony of sounds that just erupted, an ember from the pit of fire must have singed the baby monkey's butt.

The nurse eventually says, "40lbs." 

40 fucking pounds....
I wish I could've just told her that instead of going through this entire song and dance!

What's that you say?  Your pediatric nurse doesn't  use the word "tare"? It's only reserved for my ruffians?

Of course it fuckin would be!

I'm grateful that the rest of the checkup went smoothly. My ruffian sat quietly with a face full of distrust and suspicion aimed at the doctor, but still he actually did everything she asked and that's what mattered most.

Look at the light
Say "ahhhh"
Breathe deep breaths. <---- his cooperation on this one stunned me the most.

And then the doc said he wouldn't need shots.

Thank God!

That meant I wouldn't need a shot of my own when I got home! :)

-Shirley

White Lies

I lie to my son.

It's automatic, and I don't feel bad about it.  It's the only way for us to sanely co-exist right now.  I spent some time with my good (but oblivious) friend over the weekend at the zoo.  She mentioned that sometimes she feels like she's not a good mother to her almost 2 year old.

Throughout the course of the zoo day, I bold-face lied to my son.  When we first got there, he was already in the middle of a temper tantrum and insisted that we go home.  There were only two ways this could go:  I could force him into the zoo and initiate the BIG BANG tantrum, or we could go home and he would win.  Through our mother/son conversation I saw a silver-lining that only had a few-seconds window of opportunity.  I snatched that opportunity like the seagulls snatched the burger from an unattended child at the zoo's food court - without regrets.  I promised my son that we would see the elephants which the San Francisco Zoo doesn't have (what kind of fucking zoo doesn't have an elephant!?).  And you know what - the tantrum was squashed. period. never to be resurrected.

And I continued to lie because - well - when your son is about to get lost and trampled in a crowd of saddistic assholes that want to watch the anaconda feeding, it's OK to say that there is another snake somewhere else that we can go see - and high-tail it out of there!  And when your son has mastered climbing the fencing around an enclosure, it's OK to tell him that the seal will eat him.

I just laughed each time, and jokingly said to my friend, "And you think you're a bad mom! I lie to my son!"

At that moment, my friend stopped in her tracks, her eyes glazed as if she was deep in thought, she made a decision at that moment and then she proclaimed her newest vow,

"I will always tell the truth to my son."  

(I did mention that she's oblivious - right?)

Good luck with that, biatch.  I watched her son during the entire day, and this almost-2yr old showed all the classic signs of on-coming terrible twos.  Signs that I was completely oblivious to 1 year ago.  He fought her and whined for everything, and my friend just dealt with it with the ignorance of a new mom, saying no but lovingly enabling and catering to his mini-tantrums, which I was also guilty of a year ago.  I didn't have the heart to tell her the battles that lie ahead of her.  Remembering the anguish that my son put me through, tantrum after tantrum that damn near left me crying in the corner in the fetal position!  After being put through the ringer, a seasoned mom chooses her battles and little white lies are the perfect weapon in her arsenal.  You want to see the monkeys fight?  OK let's go see the monkeys fight.  You wanna see the non-existent elephant?  OK let's go see the non-existent elephant.

I don't feel bad about it at all.  I was lied to as a child too.  I remember during a trip to Mexico I was promised (pinky-swear, blood brothers!) that we would go to a cave on the beach after 10pm where I would meet a real live MERMAID!  I remember being so happy and filled with excitement (This was before "Pirates of the Carribbean" exposed a whole new side of mermaids, those bitches!).  How could I be so LUCKY!  And you know what happened at 9pm?  I fuckin' fell asleep!  And you know what happened the next morning?  Not a damn thing because I didn't remember shit.  And you know what happened when I finally remembered?  Jack shit because the opportunity had already passed and it was a moot point.

What I'm trying to say is.................................................... shit I forgot.

Must be time to go to sleep, maybe I'll remember in a week when it's moot.

So here's a gratuitous picture of a grizzly bear that scared the shit out Diego when it came up to the glass and licked the window - Shirley

Someone let these Ruffians back into their enclosure!

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