In Other News: How to Tell Your Kindergartner Their Pencils Kind of Look Like ...

This is why kids in Kindergarten shouldn't have homework. My youngest son is working on math for homework. Today's problem: If you have six (6) pencils and you give four (4) to your friend, how many pencils do you have left? Draw your answer. We were doing great until it came time to draw the pencils....

Poor kiddo, I made him redraw his pencils about 3 or 4 times before finally giving up and doing it myself and letting him color it in. It's not that they looked like male genitals, it's that they looked EXACTLY like male genitals. Yep. Six of them.

So what do you say in this situation: Sorry son, but your pencils look like some dude's junk?

Well, I very tactfully (I hope it was tactfully) kept encouraging him to draw the shaft (is that even what you call the length of a pencil?!) thinner and not so fat and to not draw the eraser so big...or to put the line that separate the shaft(?) part from the eraser in the middle so that it doesn't look like two erasers (or you know, like testicles...).

The good news though is he didn't make the connection at all. So it really just means I'm becoming a dirty old lady...or a 15 year old boy.

Well If I Have to Communicate...

I quit Facebook (yes, again) for good (yes, seriously). Long story short, I honestly just can't be bothered with it anymore. And, for some people their world just imploded. Am I that important? No. But some people seem to think so. I can't even begin to tell you how many people have called/emailed/texted me since I quit. Oh wait, I can. I can actually count on one hand how many people reached out to me in some form. But, the number of people who actually caught an attitude because I decided I no longer wanted to be on social media? That number is astounding. The idea that I do something that helps my mental health is preposterous.

I always find it amusing when people take personal offense to someone else doing something that doesn't harm them in anyway. How does me removing myself hurt anyone? Does it break connections? No. Because if there was a true connection, then the connection could not be broken. Personally, I have people in my life who have been my friend since elementary school that I have only spoken to a few times over the years, yet our connection remains strong. I refuse to believe that Facebook is the only way to communicate with someone. Especially, if you have my phone number, address, email address, or a reader of my blog. The idea that social media is easier to keep up with someone is somewhat true, but that doesn't mean it's the only way. Besides, I've always been more in sync with those who understand the beauty of a phone call, the gesture of a letter, the simpleness of an email.

And honestly, it's nice to be missed. Who doesn't like being missed? But the attitude and anger I've gotten over my decision as if I kicked their dog is ridiculous. I'm just not interested in social media anymore, of any kind. Blogging is probably the most effort I'll put into maintaining an online presence moving forward. So if you want to keep up with me, well here I am.

The Struggle With Being Strong

This has been on my mind for a few weeks now, but I've been too busy to sit down and write it all out.

I hate being strong. There, I've said it. What, why?! Trust and believe, I understand that it's a compliment, a testament to how I inspire others. A single mom of three boys who knows firsthand what it's like to stand in line in the rain waiting for a food pantry to open, exactly how it feels when you have to sell off furniture to make rent, the pain of having to beg someone who repeatedly hurts you for help just to survive, and knows the reality of simply not being enough. Yep, that's me. And did I mention I've done all this why managing my mental health? Yep. Truth is, I don't know how I do it. I just do. So many people call me strong, but I wouldn't call myself that. If anything, I'm survivor. I simply refuse to be a victim. I refuse to give up. I don't know how to just give up. I'm not of the mind to "let go and let God." I see it like this, God made me who I am by equipping me with a strong sense of survival. And that's exactly what I do. Survive. Yes, I know, I know it's strength. But I hate being called "strong".

Why? Because it makes me feel like I'm not allowed to be weak. Like I'm not allowed to have meltdowns and feel overwhelmed. Because believe me, I do. When my body stops being on the same page as my mind, I feel weak. When trying to juggle my busy schedule of  being a single mom plus sole breadwinner collide, I feel overwhelmed. And sometimes I just can't do it all. I'm human! Society has this grand idea that moms are supposed to be able to do everything. But wait a minute, aren't women supposed to be the weaker sex? So when everything doesn't get done, I find myself feeling like shit. But, wait I'm not supposed to feel that way because I'm mom. I'm super human. I'm supposed to be able to do every single damn thing all while wearing a smile.

The truth of the matter is sometimes my children eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with fruit and a glass of milk for dinner instead of a well balanced home cooked meal. Sometimes I just say fuck it and put on a movie for my kids so I can catch a nap instead of taking them to the park for quality family time. Sometimes I wait until we only have condiments and crackers to go grocery shopping instead of making sure my pantry is fully stocked at all times.

Sometimes I cry in the shower. Sometimes I cry myself to sleep. Sometimes I cry in my car. Sometimes I just simply acknowledge I am not some superhuman machine and that I am weak.

Now this doesn't take away from my accomplishments or the fact that I truly am making shit happen. No, it doesn't negate any of this. But, I hate that sometimes I fall victim to feeling like I have to do XYZ because this is what strong women do. No, it's not. I am a strong woman. I persevere.I go on. When the going gets tough, I just deal with it in the moment. It's who I am. I struggle with being strong, but I don't know any other way. And, I'm okay with that.

The Fault in Our Stars Review

I don’t know if you know this about me, but as much as I love to read I don’t do reviews. I simply don’t. It’s very rare that I write them now that I’m over the age of 13 and they are no longer required for a grade. Chillax. I’m not saying people who write reviews are wasting their time. I actually really appreciate those people because they  spare me the burden of having to put my thoughts to paper on a book.

Something you may know about me, my reading is personal. I tend to get overly involved in the lives of the characters I read. I cry, laugh, smile, and kick ass with them. When their friend or family dies, I feel it right there with them. Hell, I’m still mourning the death of Madoc of Powys who delighted me in A Moment in Time by Bertice Small. A book from 1991. And don’t even get me started on Kisten from The Hollows series by Kim Harrison. My heart still hurts over that like it happened yesterday.
 

So anyway, my reading is personal. I have no problem discussing a book, its characters, its plot, what the author was trying to say, etc. But when it comes to sitting down and actually reviewing about and saying while I loved or hated it. Unless, I really really hated it. It’s simply something I don’t do. I like to keep my characters to myself and let others decide for themselves whether that character does it for them. 

If you follow me on Goodreads, you’ll see me rate books with the star rating and that’s it. This might also be why it’s taken me almost 2 years to finish writing THE REVIEW for my friend Phil on a series he loaned to me. Seriously, it’s turned into pretty much a book report. In my defense, it started off as a joke between my friend Gwen and I. Phil is very passionate. Goodness that man is so passionate it drives me crazy (the good kind of crazy). I love how enthusiastic he is and how he lights up from the inside when he loves something. It reminds me of one of my boys when they get a new gift. Anyway, he asked me nearly every single time I saw him what I thought of so and so and this scene and that scene. To the point where I just said to Gwen “you know what? I’m going to write him a report. Typed and double spaced. And put it all in a binder.” The idea was brilliant. Especially since I know he would actually read it. And I still plan to do it. One day. Anyway, it’s very rare that I’ll write a review. 

So anyway, countless people have asked me from friends to coworkers to what I think about The Fault in Our Stars by John Green.  Because I needed a blog post for today and I legitimately felt like answering it, below is my review:

The Fault in Our Stars

Have you ever cried to the point where your stomach hurt? To the point where you felt so weak and utterly exhausted? To where you just felt completely empty? Drained of all emotion? This is what TFOS did to me. It left me raw. I finished the book around 12am and it took me an hour or two to fall asleep after I closed the book and placed it on my bookshelf. It’s not that TFOS made me cry. Or that it made me smile. It made me reflect. My dad died of cancer similar to one of the characters in the book and that broke me. I spent a lot of time thinking back on how I spent the last year of my Dad’s life. Was I like Hazel’s parents? Hovering, overly involved, annoying? Was I like Gus’s parents? Trying to let him live his life? Involved, but distant? To be fair, the book made me laugh way more than it made me cry. It’s a very honest, very raw account of what it’s like to live with cancer. Which I thoroughly enjoyed, especially since so many books get it wrong by telling the story of what it’s like to have cancer.  Big difference in my opinion. There were some “A-ha!” moments and some “seriously?!” moments to which all I enjoyed. I gave the book four out of five stars because honestly, I just haven’t read a book that meets my high standards in order to receive a five. Oh they are out there; I’ve read many of them, just not all of them. Anyway, the book was touching, sweet, sincere, and raw. The book touched me deeply to the point where I have no idea which direction I want to go next. 

Popping Squats: The New Way to Communicate

So at the end of March, I was talking to coworkers and we were lamenting over how much we sit all day. On average, I work 10 hour days, come home and log on for another 2-3 hours, and I unwind by watching 1-2 hours of TV. So let's say 13* hours a day I'm sitting. 13 x 5 (work week), that's 65 hours I'm sitting during the work week. On average, I sleep about 5 hours during the week. That's 25 hours. So of the 120 hours during the week, in the time that I'm awake which is 95 hours, I'm sitting for 65 of those hours. Seriously. WHAT THE FUCK?! Right?!

That means I'm only actively moving for 30 hours a week! That's crazy! I know! So I was like "Bob, that's re-damn-diculous! We need to fix that". So we started joking around about silly shit we could do to move more. And my genius self said "we should pop squats after every email we send". Everybody was like "Yeah!!! That sounds AWESOME! Let's do it!!" So we all made a pact that we would start popping squats after every email sent starting April 7th. We pushed the start date until then because I was going on vacation the next week and we all wanted to start together. Solidarity and all that jazz.

So come Monday, April 7th, we were ALL psyched about our new get fit program. Bob kicked it off, then I went next, one by one we all got into the routine. Ain't none of think that shit through! Nope. We were so busy thinking about how awesome we were that nobody did the math on how many emails would equal squats. At first we were all like "woo!!! squat time!" then by that 10th squat we were dragging a bit. Then by the time we made it to our 20th squat, I was like fuck this shit. But guess what? It was only 9am. YES!!! Only one damn hour had passed. And I still had until 5pm?! Hell to the naw! My body was BURNING!! So I tried to get creative, every customer who emailed me I picked up the phone and called them right away instead of sending an email. Hell, customers who were like Makita, you can just email. I was like nah, let me upload it to your page and you'll be able to access it that way. For real, by 10am I was crying out for Mary, Jesus, and Joseph. Shoot, I was crying out for that little lamb that be in half them Jesus paintings.

Random, but doesn't Jared Leto now look like Funny Jesus?

By 11am, my manager came over and asked us what we were doing. She said we had never made this many phone calls ever. Shoot, we were all giving the best customer experience that day. No email was not important that day! So we went back to the drawing board and decided that 1 email = 1 squat was re-damn-diculous and that 5 emails = 2 squats. Much better, much more doable. So now, I'm averaging about 20-25 squats throughout the day while at work. Next month we move up to 5 emails = 4 squats. Cause you know, you gotta keep progressing.


*Also includes time I am sitting down to a meal/driving/activities generally performed sititng