Bucket List

My dad is going to a Nascar Race this weekend.
"Why?" I asked.
"It's on my bucket list," he replied with an implied "duh."


Nascar, really? Seriously?  I never in a million years would have guessed that would be on my father's bucket list.  But who am I to judge someone's list?


MY BUCKET LIST
Learn to speak French.  
Go to Paris. 
Go to Montreal.  
Run the New York City Marathon. 
Own a mini Cooper. 
Be in the live studio audience of The Daily Show. 
Shake hands with a Democratic President.  
Go to the Kentucky Derby with a gigantic hat.
Dye my hair pink. 
Go on a weekend getaway with my husband to Carmel, CA.
See Dolly Parton in concert.
Get a nose ring.  
Learn to play the piano. 
Take a ski trip to Banff, Canada.  
Wear a total sequins evening gown (out of the store).  
Make a seven-course meal.  
Be a back up singer on stage. 
Ice skate at Rockefeller Center at Christmas time.  
Go to a Cubs game in Chicago.
Run the 5-K in New York on New Year's Eve.
Publish something.
Be an extra in a movie.
Learn to sew.
DJ a party (David Guetta style).
Run the bases in a major league baseball stadium. 
Play the bongos. 
Meet Oprah.
Lay on a beach in the Bahamas.
Go to the Oscars.
Rent/buy an RV and drive cross country (from hotel to hotel).


Some of you may be judging my list and that's okay, I get it.  We all have to find our own joy.  Here's a clip from the movie The Bucket List, which I didn't see, but damn it's a good clip. Morgan Freeman is narrating, doesn't get much better than that.




Now that I've made my bucket list, I feel compelled to go out and make it happen.  And now I feel tired and disappointed.  Uh-oh, so not the point of this exercise.  While I dream about France and Dolly Parton and feel like a total failure, here are a few things I know for sure (this week):


Yes, I am a year behind, but I just watched Bad Teacher and I LOVED it.  So f-ing funny.  You must watch.




I have never and will never chew up my food and feed it to my child mouth to mouth, Alicia Silerstone style. Gross. (There I go with the judgement, but whatever on that one.)


There are rumors that Ann is out as co-anchor at Today and I feel guilty because I agree, Savannah Guthrie is better. 


I heart Julia, no not Roberts, Sugarbaker. Yup, from Designing Women.  Julia Sugarbaker said some awesome stuff back in the late eighties, early nineties that is still spot on today.  Here's her take on separation of church and state. Preach it Julia.  LOVE IT.

Over 20 years ago, I wanted to be Madonna when I grew up and I still do. MDNA is good, especially track #7.  Yes, some critics have compared her to a granny dancing on stage.  I just happen to be of the age where I find that inspiring.


I know that I am so grateful for readers of this here wee little blog that keep coming back and keep reading.  I appreciate it so much.  If you feel like sharing the love, spread the word by sharing the Facebook page (click here). And if you haven't already you can subscribe to the blog via email (click here) and/or follow me on Twitter (@AngelaYBlood).


And of course I know I love Tina Fey/Liz Lemon.  Here's a clip of how she too was inspired by Julia Sugarbaker from Designing Women.  She also is crying just like I was last night saying "I'm so tired."  So sad funny!

The Lottery

Everyone is going lottery crazy as the Mega Millions rises to a record $500 million--at least according to that crazy liberal media.


I've never bought a lottery ticket.  I've never been to a casino.  It's not that I have any moral issue with it or religious stance against it or anything like that.  Not sure why I haven't.  Maybe because I'd rather spend my extra money on food and wine.  Maybe because I've never had a lot of extra money.  Maybe my addictive tendencies scare the hell out of me and I'm afraid I would lose all my money at the craps table.  And then end up borrowing from the creepy guy in the silk shirt and chains that I imagine hangs out at casinos.  Of course I would lose his money and then discover he's a mob guy and he then sends goons after me. I spend the rest of my life moving my kids from town to town changing our identities to escape from loan sharks and mob men.  Obviously, I've watched too much tv, but whatever.


I was always more of a dive bar with a great blues band kind of girl.  Or my absolute favorite thing was/is an outdoor concert, preferably at a small venue.


I don't go out anymore.  But I just might buy a lottery ticket.  I mean c'mon, $500 million. With that kind of money I could go all Oprah on your ass and buy everyone I love a car.  Of course, Biggie Smalls and Puffy's (back when Diddy was Puffy) song "Mo Money Mo Problems" is indeed running through my head.


And maybe now yours(seriously, push play while you read the rest.



My husband, Tim, is the kind of person that knows exactly what he would do if he won the lottery.  He has put a lot of thought into it.  He believes he has a shot.  Tim isn't a crazy spend-all-your-extra-money-on-lottery-tickets guy.  He is an optimist.

That's my man teaching Sunday school, even these kids are like
"player please, are you for real?"

When the mail comes he still gets excited, because something for him might be in there.  Yeah, like a million bills, ugh.


"I have never been depressed," he told me once.  He might as well have said there is no God and Southfork isn't as big as it looks on TV.


But that might be why we work so well.  If we both walked around comparing our bouts of depression who the hell would get the mail?


For 14 years we have worked pretty well.  Tim will tell me how he has it all figured out and that we'll be living the good life "when we win millions from the lottery."  And I tell him he's fucking crazy and that nothing will be okay, ever. See?  We're all good.


But maybe now I want a little of what he's having.  I want a sip out of the half-full glass of Kool-aid.  


Today, I will buy my first lottery ticket.  I will live in the realm of anything is possible and that everything might be okay.  And I will dream of buying everyone I love a car.

Some Kind of Wonderful

I'm having a much better week.  I'm trying to take the time to celebrate the good stuff--big and small.

The trees blooming early? Yup I'm celebrating that for sure.

Like the fact that baby Wade has made it two days in a row at the gym childcare without biting anybody. In case you're wondering, that is considered big in my world.  Small stuff I'm celebrating? All my favs making it to the live shows on The Voice.


It's amazing what some sleep, an attitude adjustment and acceptance will do.  Because essentially it's the same week--I fell off the wagon with my nutella and red wine; the kids are sniffling and seem to be getting a yet another new virus; the little boys are still coming into my bed at night and last night both of them peed in the bed.  I mean these things would've sent me over the edge last Wednesday.

Obviously, I didn't use a hand model, yuck.  But look at my newest nutella love, gluten free pretzels dipped in the good stuff!!!!! Oh my!

But due to a shift in hormones self-acceptance, it's all pretty good.  And I am celebrating.


The big and small and ordinarily wonderful. 

And it's mostly some kind of wonderful.

This song was a sad theme song for me last week.  But this week, it is just beautiful.

Introduced to this beautiful duo, First Aid Kit, by bad ass blogger at Girl Gone Child.  I adore that blog.


This song is my theme song this week.  Old school Bonnie Raitt.  Sigh. Enjoy.

Mufasa Is Dead

When my oldest son was little we (my husband and I) used to tell him that Mufasa was just sleeping in The Lion King.  You know the heartbreaking scene when little Simba is trying to wake him up after the stampede?  For years I couldn't get myself to say, "Honey, Simba's dad died."


I wanted to protect him from such horrible-ness.  I didn't want my baby to be sad.


But he eventually figured it out.  Fast forward eight years and three more kids and everyone, even baby Wade, knows Mufasa is dead.  Ugh.


Yesterday I went to JT's kindergarten class to help out.  Volunteering in the classroom is not my thing, I think I've mentioned this fun fact before.  I find it challenging to use all my nice energy on other people's difficult children and then have nothing left for my kids later.  But yesterday was special, the kids were working on a rock and roll video for their dads. 

JT wanted to look like a tough guy rock star with a tattoo and a mohawk.  He ended up looking more like Ponyboy from The Outsiders.


Remember that movie?  What a cast.  I was in love with that movie. And with the cast.


I was young when I watched it, like upper elementary school young.  There wasn't any sugarcoating it for me.  No one told me Dallas was just sleeping. (Sorry for the spoiler alert if you haven't seen it.)


After school the kids were running around the backyard happily chasing each other, getting along, loving life and each other.  At least that's how I saw it from my kitchen window. 

"What are you guys playing?" I asked when I went out to join them.


"The Hunger Games," my pre-tween 10-year-old Peyton said happily and then ran off to pretend kill his little sister.  


What the hell?  How did this kid that I protected from the sadness of Mufasa's death turn into this monster?  

That's right this is a Hunger Games post.  I have not read the books or seen the movie--I simply heard "kids killing kids" and "post apocalyptic" and I had a mini panic attack and steered clear.


My children haven't read the books or seen the movie.  My husband just started the first book last night and he has been engrossed in it, but we haven't spoken to him about it much, yet.  Peyton said a few of his friends have seen the movie and read the book.  That's where he got the idea for the fun back yard game.


And they were having fun.  


My first reaction was to protect them from all the horrible-ness.
"Don't worry, it's just pretend," Lucy reminded me.

We'll decide after Tim finishes the book if it is something that Peyton can handle reading and whether or not the movie is a good idea. But for now, I'll let him feel all cool playing The Hunger Games game with his siblings.


And of course, who do you think is having the most fun? The baby Wade.  He makes me nervous.




Here's a great article on forbes.com about why The Hunger Games is a great movie for your kids. Interesting.  It does in deed mention parents' need to "opt for a sheltered view of what our kids should be exposed to."  Who the hell does sh*t like that? Ha! Click here to read it.

Just One Stupid Week

(Yet another image that will not get me on Pinterest.)

I found my happy again by letting go of a few things, like cleaning up the breakfast dishes.  


I was in a funk last week.  A funk so deep no one could really tell me anything to make it better.  A funk so deep that even the sunny, 80 degree weather couldn't help.  A funk so deep that even the cure all kitchen dancing couldn't help.


Nothing felt right from my pants to my feelings.  I was all kinds of off. 


I didn't feel good enough for anybody or anything.  The baby needed 100 percent of my time and so did my three other kids.  My husband needed at least 10 percent of my time to listen to his work stuff.  The house needed some percentage of my time to remain in a little bit of order.  There were a thousand other things that needed 50 to 100 percent of my time.  Now I may suck at math, but I know enough to know that's f*cking impossible.


Borderline insane suburban mother feeling pulled in a million directions. Ugh. I have become yet another cliched stereotype.  Lonely, but never alone.  Overwhelmed and full of guilt.



Love me some Lynette from Desperate Housewives.


It goes back to my strange reality that involves my ability to handle big life issues with grace and relative ease and strength. I'm pretty proud of that ability.  But god damn it, the day-to-day life stuff throws me for a loop.


And this parenting gig? Talk about a loop.  "I quit," I cried to my husband last week.  Of course referring to my job as mother.   


But I have to believe it matters.  I have to believe that all the dumb snacks I fix, calendars I organize, details I scrutinize, lessons I try to teach, words of wisdom I try to share--they matter right?  All the behind the scenes work matters right?


My fear is that the kids will forget all that and remember the sporadic funky weeks.  My fear is that they'll be broken like me.


Last Friday morning, after making the kids their special waffles upon request and helping them get their stuff ready for school, they pushed me too far.  The two older ones rolled their eyes about something and complained about the breakfast fruit choice.  "Forget it!," I screamed and dumped the plates in the sink.  "I'm done."


After a few minutes, I apologized for freaking out and "ruining their day."


"We're sorry too, but it's just one stupid morning," Lucy said.  


She was right, it was just one stupid morning, one stupid week.  We will be okay.  And there will be more stupid mornings and stupid weeks.  There will be more funks.  


And even though you can't tell me when I'm going through it, I know deep down, it will be okay.  So, I let go of a few things-like doing the dishes one day, feeling guilty and like I'm letting everyone down.  We all moved on and had a pretty wonderful weekend.

And I have to believe it all matters.  

Strange-Both Good and Bad (And Things I Know For Sure)

This week has been strange.  
Both good and bad strange.

80 degree temperature in Michigan in March is a good strange.

Getting called twice this week from the elementary school and being asked to pick up a sick kid is a bad strange.


Six hours of sleep in one night is definitely a good strange.


Fighting off depression and crying in the car loop, ugh, normal strange. Waaaah.


But here are a few things I know for sure (this week):
If I were a soap character, I just might be the one with a split personality.  For example, check out these two crazy different songs that I am LOVING right now.

Abigail Washburn, "Nobody's Fault But Mine" She is so cool.


Nicki Minaj just might be my new Pit Bull--I am loving every new song she is in and she is in a lot of them. (If you can't watch it on your phone/ipad/etc. Go check out Nicki Minaj's "Starships," so fun.)




Mad Men is coming back and I can't f-ing wait.  If you need a recap of the last season (a year and a half ago) here it is:

If I was super cool I would throw a Mad Men theme party like this in honor of the two-hour premiere.  If anyone wants to throw a party like this and invite me, I would love to attend! These pics and ideas are from Pizzazzerie.com.  Check them out.

 

I'm rocking Operation In Living Color with my new $7 bracelet from Francesca's.  I love it so much--because it is bright yellow and it feels like Wonder Woman's bad ass super power cuffs. (Although I look more Tim Tebow than Lynda Carter in this picture.)

It's good to have a goal.  I have a secret goal of getting 100 "likes" on this here blog's Facebook page.  I am at a whopping 58 now.  If you feel inclined to like it and/or share it on your own Facebook page, that would be, well, pretty f-ing awesome. Click here to like and share away!


Twitter celebrated 6 years in existence this past week.  You know I love Twitter(@angelaYBlood).  What I know for sure is that Jimmy Kimmel's salute to Twitter made me laugh out loud. LOVE IT.

My Someday Is Now- In Living Color

After making my spring fever resolutions, I started my day out yesterday all bright and shiny.  I woke up early, even took a shower, made breakfast, got the older kids to school and headed to the gym.  Just as my exercise class was getting started, I got the news.  I got kicked out of the gym for the rest of the week.  


Kicked out because Wade bit some other kid in the childcare room.

Wade- the 2-year-old who we all think is one of the big kids until he goes and bites somebody.

Sure, I laughed it off to the other moms and pathetically felt loved and accepted when the childcare workers called me a "cool, understanding mom."  And yeah, I might've cried a little in the van and again in the bathroom at home.


But I won't let one little set back on my quest to change my life get me down.  


So I am embarking on Operation In Living Color (a fun way of saying I want to wear more color). Color makes me happy.  Color is bold, and being bold is scary and exciting. All good things.


A couple months ago I went to a friend's funeral.  Before she died, she requested people not wear black. She wanted people to wear something bright and colorful.  I searched through my closet and realized most of my clothes are grey and black.  I was able to find a purple flower pin and stuck that on my grey shirt which was paired with a black skirt of course.  


But now that I am all about color and boldness, I am going to start wearing color (or at least more colorful flower pins).


For a little inspiration I need look no further than my little Lucy.  She has a killer sense of style that is all her own.  

A sense of style that I hope she continues to embrace, just like the fairy wings she wore every day to preschool.  Every day.  


Lucy can pull off mix and match plaids.

No one rocks snowman socks with a sundress like my Lulu.

Her one fashion rule? Well really there's two: It must be comfortable and it must be colorful.


I used to dress all funky and crazy as a kid when we would visit the big city, Chicago.  My version of funky and crazy was a mash up of Madonna and Tina Turner--lots of bracelets, teased hair and ultra short skirts (and sometimes Jody Watley style hoop earrings and mega belts).  And if I was feeling really crazy and colorful, I would put blue hair paint on.  Does anyone remember hair paint?  And stickers for my face, placed carefully and oh so awesomely on my cheekbones.


My fashion idols were indeed Madonna and Lisa Bonet as Denise on The Cosby Show.  Someday I thought, I am going to dress really funky and colorful. 


Well screw it, my someday is now.  So keeping in mind Lucy's two rules, Lisa Bonet's courage and my resolution to wear more color, I am going to start shaking it up.  Have a little fun with color.

One of my rules in fashion and life is to never take it too seriously.  I wear my heart and my sense of humor on my sleeve..

Here's a phenomenal video about older women who embrace color and having fun with their fashion. 


Advanced Style: Age and Beautyfrom Ari Cohen on Nowness.com.


And just in case you needed a reminder of how sweet Jody Watley's look was, here you go.

Meltdown #5,246

Yesterday was the first day of spring.  The morning greeted me with sunshine and the promise of almost 80 degree temps for the afternoon.  I don't remember ever having a first day of spring here in Michigan be that warm, that nice.

So how did I greet spring?  With meltdown number 5,246 (this year alone).  Yup, I was crying in the car loop.  


What sent me over the edge this time?  My thighs.  Well really my whole lower half and my inability to fit into last year's shorts and capris.  When I found the aforementioned clothing, I rejoiced and felt excitement at the whole crazy idea of legitimately wearing shorts in March in Michigan.  My joy quickly turned to disgust, when I couldn't button the capris.

And yeah, I teared up a little.   And then I cried because I was embarrassed that I was crying about my legs.  I am better than that.  For christ's sake, I am not somebody that cries about this shit.  A compelling contestant's life story on The Voice? You bet there are tears.  A sweet baptism at church? Gets my tears rolling every time.  My kids happy and achieving some grand goal they've set for themselves? Gets my cry on for sure. But my thighs?  I am better than that.


But of course just like the last 5,245 meltdowns, there is usually more going on.  And it's usually a balance thing, or more like an out of balance thing.


Should I really be surprised that my pants don't fit when I've been chronicling my addiction to Nutella and red wine?  My first reaction to my pants not fitting was that I needed to have my thyroid checked, I needed something to blame it on besides my bad decisions.


"I'm changing my life starting today," I said in a message to my husband after the car loop sob session.  "I am going to be a totally organized person starting today."


Back in the fall I made my annual "Back to School Resolutions" and looking back on them, I gotta say, I set the bar low enough that I fulfilled quite a few, if not all of them.

I did indeed find a decent morning routine, read one book to Wade and I totally tweet more.  


Feeling empowered by my ability to make promises of change and actually follow through with it, or at least some of it, I decided to make a new list.  

Spring Fever Resolutions include:

• Go to bed before midnight at least three nights a week.
• Cut back on the sweets--just say no to the whole jar of Nutella.
• Watch more tv.  Sounds crazy, but I have almost a whole season of The Good Wife on my dvr that I need to watch.
• Be nicer to myself and stop judging myself so harshly.
• Wear more color.
• And oh yeah, be totally, completely organized.
• Enjoy the moment(s) even more.

In celebration of all this post meltdown positivity, we took the kids to Dairy Queen for their free cones. And instead of splurging for my favorite(but bigger and more calorie-d) M&M Blizzard for myself, I simply enjoyed the free vanilla cone and the moment.

Better than Betty

Can a person burn out of playing?  I just don't feel like playing anymore.

It could just be that yesterday was a really long day.  Or that I don't sleep much. Or that I am completely not eating very healthy lately.  


Overall, I'm a pretty fun mom, at least I think so.  I don't worry about messes, don't really have a "you're being too loud" rule and am almost up for about anything.

Case in point, a fun mom doesn't get mad when paint is spilled by the 2 year old, everywhere, right before bedtime.  She doesn't get mad when she doesn't realize it's all over her fingers and ends up on her face.  She doesn't even get mad when her kids are laughing at her for looking like an idiot with warpaint on her face, unknowingly.  Now that's a completely, utterly exhausted fun mom.

But today I felt way more Betty Draper from Mad Men than....oh my god there is no fun tv mom reference.  I just went totally blank.  Sure there are moms that were cool and easy going like Mrs. Brady (duh, Brady Bunch), compassionate and understanding like Mrs. Keaton (Family Ties) and super smart and together like Mrs. Huxtable (The Cosby Show).  But fun and zany?  I can't really think of one.  Dads, butlers and nannies are usually the zany, fun ones.

Ugh. I am so disturbed that now this post is taking a completely different turn.  All moms are portrayed as the sensible, kind, calm (er) ones that take care of situations, but lack a sense of humor or a sense of play.

And I am fitting the stereotype.  

"We need you to come home, we are having way too much fun," my loving husband Tim told me when I went away recently.  I knew my kids would have fun with their fun dad.  I wasn't prepared for how apparent the differences between us were. "We need you to give us some structure," he explained.

Screw it.  I may not be zany and love to play, but don't worry I'm not the calm one that takes care of situations either.  Wait that's not a good thing.  Ugh.

Whatever.  At least I'm not Betty Draper, dude she's horrible.

And that is why I cannot wait for the long awaited two hour season premiere this Sunday of Mad Men.  You know Betty will do some crazy shit and I will feel so much better about myself.

Awwwww, since I mentioned those rad tv moms, here's some of my favorite clips:


Everyone needs a mom like Clair Huxtable in their corner.

Just the opening of Family Ties makes me well up with nostalgia.

I Choose Ice Cream

The second wave of celebrating Lucy's eighth birthday happened this past weekend.                                                                                 

               It started with the stripper cake for a few friends from her class.  If you missed Friday's post, click here for more information about this ridiculous cake.  But once I put more and more and more frosting on, the cake turned out, um, well, okay.  At least less stripper like.

Lucy had a few friends over from her class and everyone had fun.  They played outside, painted inside, and played Barbies.

I would call it a success.


But then, on Sunday the two little boys were struck with fevers and we had to cancel her family party.  She was very disappointed.  In a moment of parent weakness I suggested we go and get her ears pierced to lift her spirits.


Lucy has been begging to get her ears pierced for four years now.  She pleads for that and a pet almost daily.  I told her she had to wait until she was in middle school to get her ears pierced.  Mostly because I like her having something to look forward to doing.  And also because I like having something powerful to dangle in front of her or use it as a threat..."you keep acting like that and you won't get your ears pierced, ever."


Yesterday after I suggested the trip to Caire's to get her ears pierced I immediately regretted it, but not just because I'd lost my edge in our power struggle. 


Once we got to the store I started to feel queasy.  It seemed crazy to put my little girl in that chair and have someone puncture her precious ears with needles.  Why was I doing this?  Why was I letting her do this? She is only 8 for god's sake. As usual, I was doing a little overthinking.  But in this case, I wasn't alone.


Miss Lucy was busy doing some overhinking too. She describes the situation as "horrizing."

In the end, she chose ice cream over earrings. And I couldn't be happier.  It is great to be 8!

Just Stacie Jumping Out of a Cake

There is so much you could say about this picture.


This is my attempt to make my daughter happy and win her love. We aren't done celebrating Lucy's birthday even though it was over a week ago.  The celebrating continues with a few friends this weekend.  And she wanted one of those fancy cakes that looked like a Barbie's flowing gown. This is what I gave her, Barbie's sister Stacie jumping out of a cake.  No flowing gown.  No perfect Barbie.  Just Stacie jumping out of a cake.


I was up all night believe it or not creating that crap.  Of course, that isn't the finished product, but believe me it isn't much better.  Before Lucy went to bed I told her that I would do my best, but it might not turn out exactly like she expected.  "We can make it a funny story and laugh about it though right?" I asked adding the fact that no matter what it looked like "it would taste good."


My kids love birthdays.  


I love traditions, but birthday parties are not my favorite.  My mom used to make a big deal out of our birthday parties when we were kids.  She made amazing cakes, came up with stellar games and always had a lot of enthusiasm.  The parties were very important to her.  


Over the years, the parties became more and more about her and less about our birthdays. 


A friend recently told me she was trying not to parent from anxiety. The anxiety of our own childhoods.  I was flabbergasted.  Not only do I parent from anxiety, I live my whole life based on anxiety (and yes, most of it stems from childhood).


Later that same day I heard an interview on NPR where a parenting expert advised listeners to "raise your kids not yourself."


Okay, universe, I am getting the message.  I won't make the birthday about me.  I won't make the cake about me and my own mother issues.  I will live and parent with intention, the intention to encourage my daughter and give her the tools to be a confident adult with bad ass coping skills.


Even though Lucy seems like a mini me most days, I need to remember that she is her own little person.  

Her big second grade musical was last night. While she was prepping and singing her song I sat and listened.  At the conclusion I feverishly clapped with pride and delight, maybe a little too much.  


"Um, you don't have to do that," she said flatly. 


"I just want you to know how much I like it," I told her.  "I just want you to know it'll be great tonight honey."


"Mooooom, I know it will be great tonight.  It will be fun," she informed me and then did a cartwheel in the kitchen.


I would've given my eye teeth (an expression from my dear old mother) to have my parents or anyone clap for me as a kid.  Not that they didn't, I just needed it a lot.  Hell, even when I did lip synch concerts in my bedroom as a kid it was to my parents' Live Beach Boys record.  Not because I was such a Beach Boys fan, but because the live crowd on the record cheered me on after each song.


Lucy doesn't need that.

Does she need a cake that looks like stripper is coming out of it?  Probably not.  But she does need a mother that parents with intention, love and a sense of humor.  Check, check, check.  I got those covered.


Sure it ain't Barbie, just Stacie jumping out of a cake.  But it's a funny story and you better believe it will taste good.  And of course, secretly I'm still hoping I will win her love.