200!!

THIS IS IT!

This, right here, what you’re reading right this very second, is my 200th post!

Now, my plan was to do a super awesome giveaway for my 200th post.  I am still planning on doing a super awesome giveaway, but it’s going to be a surprise (to you and me both) when that happens.  Hopefully it will be soon, because it’s a good one!

But I wanted to do something special for my 200th post.  Something different.

So instead of doing a giveaway…

I’m going away.

I’m mooooving!

From here on out, you will find Much More Than Mommy right here.  If you’re a good Southern Baptist like me and fear change, calm down, it’s not that much different.  Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and click the link.  You can do it.

I know, I know, it’s a pain.  You have to update your reader now.  Le sigh.  It’ll be okay.  It’s not near as much as what I had to do to make this happen, trust me.  (Well, what I and the other people who bullied me strongly suggested thoughtfully encouraged me to move did to make it happen.)

So go.  Read.  Follow me.  Please?  There will be a super awesome giveaway, but it will be here.  Not here, but here.

The I Noticed Board

Big Sister is in school, and positive reinforcement abounds there.  She has told me about getting her name on the “I Noticed Board”.  What exactly gets your name on the board?  Doing just what you’re supposed to be doing — paying attention and listening, sitting quietly, etc.   I think she’s even gotten trips to the treasure box for things like that.

In the past I wondered if it was such a good idea to make a big ol’ fuss about people doing just what they ought to be.  Then I started just doing things that I was supposed to be doing, and I kind of liked it when I got a few pats on the back now and then.  It helps!  And you know what else?  The Bible tells me so.

Therefore encourage one another and build each other up, just as in fact you are doing.  (1 Thessalonians 5:11)

But encourage one another daily, as long as it is called today, so that none of you may be hardened by sin’s deceitfulness.  (Hebrews 3:13)

I read that second verse and I got to thinking about sin’s deceitfulness.  Maybe sometimes we think that what we’re doing doesn’t matter.  That the whole idea behind It’s A Wonderful Life is a wonderful lie.  We get to thinking, The world would still spin if I wasn’t here. 

And it would. 

But it would not be the same.   Not if any one of us was not around.

And we should tell each other that.

A lot.

Go Team!

Let’s go somewhere together, you and I…

Let’s go to a football game.  Us and our husbands, and a few other couples, mostly in our 30s.  Maybe it’s our alma mater or something.  We get to the game, and we are cheering for our team, DE-FENSE <clap><clap>, all that jazz.  In between plays, the cheerleaders come out and our husbands take notice.  They notice one in particular.  They comment on her.  She’s hot!  Look at those toned legs!  Look at that tight tummy when she raises her arms!  Mm-mmm!

Oh wait…  Did I forget to mention that this is a high school football game?

… What?  Is that inappropriate?

Ohhh, I see.  And it would also be inappropriate if we women at the game were cheering for #32 on the team?  Wearing his number on our shirts, maybe with his picture?  Talking about how hot he is?  And ohmygosh don’t even get us started on his abs?

Still inappropriate?

Really now…

Yeah.  He’s 17.  He’s the same age as the kid who bagged your groceries the other day.  The same age as your babysitter’s boyfriend.  And just 4 years ago, he was…

Sharkboy.  And 13-years-old.

And…

Britney Spears wasn’t quite 18 when this cover came out in the spring of 1999.   If our husbands were gazing at pictures like this of 17-year-old girls, would we be appalled?

More than likely, YES.

So why is it different for a 30-something woman to be staring dreamily at a picture of Taylor Lautner with his shirt off?

If a female teacher was caught with pictures like that of a 17-year-old male student, she’d be fired.

If a male teacher was caught with pictures like that of a 17-year-old female student, we’d want him castrated.

Just food for thought.

/end soapbox

Note to Self

• You probably shouldn’t be doing this while under the influence of cold medication.
• Oh well.
• You’re too excited about your new look.
• If people are reading this through their reader, they can’t see your new look.
• They should go directly to your blog to check it out.
• Send Winn a thank you note for your new look.
• Or an autographed picture of Michael Vartan.
• Having a new look on the blog is kind of like wearing a new pair of panties, or a new bra.
• It doesn’t matter what else is going on, you still feel kind of special.
• So even if your writing is kind of the equivalent to going out in a t-shirt and sweatpants, it’s all good.
• Until the new wears off and the elastic in the new panties gets kind of stretchy.
• But a new banner will not stretch! 
• A new banner will not fade!
• Again, you should probably not do this while under the influence of cold medication.
• Nor while National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation is on.
• Now might be a great time to watch those Pixar shorts again though.
• Of course, you may also have nightmares about the baby in Tin Toy.
• Apparently you aren’t the only one who feels this way.
• It’s been connected to a hypothesis, because other people thought it was creepy.
• Well, they said there were “negative audience reactions.”
• To you, that means somewhere someone else had nightmares about the creepy baby.
• Ooh.  Like that one on Ally McBeal.
• You’re sure to have sweet dreams tonight.  Good job.
• Oh well.
• It’s time to go to bed.
• If I’m lyin’, I’m cryin’!

Happy Friday!

Dear Celebrities

Dear Celebrities,

Actually, that should be Dear Male Celebrities Who Can’t Keep It In Their Pants.  Please allow me to offer you some tips on how to properly have an affair.

First, if you’re going to send text messages, get another phone.  Don’t send it from your own.  Really now.  In this day and age, you don’t know better?  You can’t afford another line?  Puh-lease.  Don’t you have personal assistants?  Get one of them to run right on down to AT&T.  Or T-Mobile.  Whoever wants you to promote them.  Have the assistant put the phone in their name, say it’s just easier that way.  Then text all you want.  Or do that sexting thing.  Whatever.  Just don’t use your own phone.  (And don’t even get me started on e-mails.)

Secondly, before you have a second clandestine rendezvous with your new gal pal, do a little research.  Google is your friend.  If you’re a hot shot actor, athlete or politician, there’s a chance she might be in it for something other than the delight of your company.  Find out if she’s been on a reality show before.  If she has, take a step back, and wonder if she could possibly someday decide to use the details of your relationship to further herself.  It’s shocking, I know.  The very thought that someone could be using you to add to her fifteen minutes of fame.  The horror.

Third, don’t forget that cameras will follow you everywhere.  It doesn’t have to be paparazzi, all it takes is one lone grainy image put on a MySpace or Facebook, and you’re busted.  Duh. 

And finally, when you get caught, because you will get caught, don’t act all shocked that the press is hounding you.  If not for the press, news of all the wonderful things you’ve done before this little mishap and all your prior achievements wouldn’t have made the rounds.  What makes you think they’re going to turn a blind eye or a deaf ear to the little hottie that was worth risking your marriage and potentially your career over?  It doesn’t matter that she’s only doing it for the publicity, it’s still newsworthy, and you should know that by now.  (Just like she should know that the absence of a wedding band on a married man does not make him any less married.)

If all of these tips seem like too much of a challenge for you, I offer this suggestion:

KEEP IT IN YOUR PANTS.

Go back home to your wife.  Counseling is probably cheaper than a $4 million ring.  It’s GOT to be cheaper than divorce, especially when you consider the cheapest settlement on the Top 10 list is $10 million.

Hope that helps!

Sincerely,
Vanessa

A Woman’s Work

This post is rated PG-13.  You’ve been warned.

I would like to hear your thoughts about a wife’s relationship with her husband when she just doesn’t “feel” like a wife.  What is a wife to do when she’s too tired (with the kids and housework), too worried (about money), and too stressed (with life in general) to be a good wife?  There are times I just don’t *want* to be affectionate.  What is there to do when I don’t feel like having sex, don’t feel like listening about his day, or feel like indulging his choices for the evening TV program?  I love my husband but there are times when I just don’t feel like being a wife.  I would like to hear your perspective on that sort of situation.

Why does sex sometimes feel like a chore?

The first question there actually came when I asked for suggestions for my 100th post.  The second question was among those topics suggested to get to my 200th.

The truth is, I had no idea how to answer the first question when it came around.   Because I hadn’t figured out how tough it was to be the total package.  I’m not saying I am totally the total package, but I am aspiring to be.  I’ll tell you what, it ain’t easy trying to be Super Mom, Super Wife and Super Sexy.

And it wasn’t until we moved into the house that I GOT IT.  Before the house, if I didn’t feel like doing stuff around the house, I just didn’t do them.  If I didn’t feel like listening to The Husband tell me about his work, his team(s), his stuff in general, I think I busied myself elsewhere.   But I’m not exactly sure what I busied myself doing, because it certainly wasn’t housework most of the time.  I mean, yes, I was working on that, but it was baby steps.

Then we moved here.  All of a sudden, laundry was getting washed and put away without The Husband ever having to touch it.  The Dyson (you have to call it that, The Dyson, because it’s more than just a vacuum) was being used at least once a week — by me, not The Husband.  Dishes were done.  By me.  Lunches were made.  By me.  Dinner was cooked.  BY ME!!

Not to mention, both girls were in some kind of school.  I’m dropping off, I’m picking up.  I’m making sure books are read and clothes are out for the next morning.  I’m marking calendars and making sure that everyone knows when the next school or church performance is.

I get tired, y’all.

And sometimes when the time rolls around that I know The Husband is on his way home, I daydream about running into the bathroom and jumping in that fabulous tub.  Then getting in my robe and laying on the bed and reading.  Then turning off the light and going to bed.  Or getting through the nightly routine of dinner, bath and bed for the girls and then just crashing.

Not talking.  Not dealing.  Not being Mommy.  Not being Wife.  Not being much more of anything.

So what happens when those moments come and I just don’t want to deal?  (And remember, these are my thoughts, just mine.  I am not a theological scholar, nor am I an expert on marriage, women, etc.  I’m barely an expert on myself.  I can only tell you what I do.)

When I get to my lowest point and I cannot fathom putting another load of laundry away when I know that in a matter of days I will be putting some of the same clothes right back in the washing machine, or preparing a meal that will be met with wrinkled noses from two girls who inherited my picky nature, or doing any of the other things that women do with or without kids that is generally unappreciated.  When I get there, I have to go to the passage in the Bible that I dread the most.

Proverbs 31:10-31.

Oh, the Proverbs 31 Woman, how I often loathe her.  I realize, though, that those verses offer me something to work towards — being a wife of noble character.  Nowhere in there does it say, “She doth see that the Dolphins are down this year and extends her arms to comfort her husband” or “She naggeth not when the garbage hath not been delivered henceforth to the far reaches of the driveway,” but I’m pretty sure each of us can read those verses and realize what we need to work on, or add our own acts of nobility for our family.  For that woman, it was making linen garments, selling them, then using her earnings to plant a vineyard.  For me and my house, as I’ve said before, love is never having to say, “Babe, I’m almost out of shorts.” 

So I guess when I get to my low points of just not feeling up to it, I have to build a bridge and get over it.  I’m also very blessed,though  to have a husband who doesn’t pitch a fit or whine when I plan or take part in a girls’ night now and then.  And sometimes, when I really need it, I ask for a night “off” inside the house.  “Baby, I just need to take 30 minutes.”  Sure, there are times I manage to get 17 minutes and 32 seconds of alone time before a little one is walking through the bedroom door — but isn’t that just life? 

The Husband’s always going to be around, and sometimes we are both in the house each doing our own thing.  It happens, and it’s okay.  But if he needs me to listen to him vent, even if it’s about something that I don’t get, I want to be there for him.  I want to be the one he feels like he can talk to about anything.  So even if I could care less what impact Ronnie Brown’s injury will have on the season, I’ll probably listen.

But sometimes he doesn’t want to talk either.  Sometimes you can both go through the routine of after-work activities.  Dinner.  Dishes.  A little TV.  Maybe you’re reading in the other room.  Maybe you haven’t said two words to each other, just because you’ve been off in a daze. 

Then it’s time for bed, and all of a sudden he’s alert as ever and he’s all up in your Kool Aid.  (I actually have no idea what that means, and I’m scared to look it up.  But it sounds like it works there.)  Anyway, there he is. 

And you’re tired.  I don’t care if you have kids or not, being a woman is exhausting.  Let’s say you’ve been working all day, then you get done with that and have to be Susie Homemaker, and then all you want is a little downtime, and there he is and there is nothing down about him!

And you know he actually has a need.  You know he loves you and really does want you.

But you’re still tired.  And it can feel like a chore.

I. So. Get. That. 

Without kids, or with kids that have been clamoring for your attention all day.   You just want him to keep his hands and other body parts to himself.

So what do I do when I feel that way?

Build a bridge and get over… him.

I remember hearing friends talk once about, I think, a Beth Moore Bible study.  I remember them talking about a prayer she mentioned — “Lord, let me thrill at his touch.”  Whether it’s from Beth Moore or not, I have prayed that prayer.  One time, The Husband was out of town for work for a few days.   I was pregnant with our second, it was summer so Big Sister was out of school, and I was babysitting an infant and also watching a 7 or 8-year-old girl.  By the time he got home, I was TIRED.  I was so excited to see him, yes, but my body was definitely not eagerly anticipating a proper welcome home reception.

Lord, let me thrill at his touch.

For me, even if I start out a little less enthused about things than him… It doesn’t take too long for me to get enthused.  It doesn’t take too long for me to remember that sex with my husband is a gift.  Then it doesn’t take me too long to forget every other thing I had stressed about that had made me want to not be with The Husband.

And usually, all of that works for me. 

I’m way, way far from perfect and sometimes I could be classified as The Worst Wife Ever when it comes to fulfilling all, or even just some, of my various roles, but that’s how I cope, how I deal, and how I feel I’m doing the best I can with what I’ve got!

Note to Self

• It’s hard to admit it, but there really isn’t that much more to you than mommy.
• You’re okay with that most of the time.
• Sometimes, though, you cling to those things that give you a sense of purpose outside of mommyhood a little too tightly.
• Then, sometimes, if one of those things is removed, it gets to you too much.
• Build a bridge, and get over it.
• The polar bears you just saw in the Narnia movie made you miss Lost a little bit.
• The commercials for Charlie and the Chocolate Factory made you think of Oompa Loompas.
• You will now have nightmares.
• It just occurred to you that The White Witch is wearing Aslan’s mane in the battle.
• And that James McAvoy is Mr. Tumnus.
• You are slow.
• You also just got why Kim has mentioned WD40 a couple of times.
• You are really, really slow.
• Blame it on the tryptophan.

Happy Friday!

Thank you, thank you very much!

Some things I am thankful for…

The Husband.  We just had a super fantastic mini-vacation.  And by mini, I mean it was brief and we didn’t go far, but we had the best time.  I love that when we go out alone, it feels like we’re teenagers on a date.  I love that it doesn’t matter where we go, we just enjoy our time together and we appreciate the fact that we have the time to begin with.  I love that we both know when we’re each using things we’ve learned or are learning through various marriage building books or seminars, but instead of thinking, “Ugh, he/she is just doing that because he/she read it in the book,” we are grateful that the other one is trying.  I’m thankful that looking at him still makes my heart skip a beat, too.  And I’m ever so thankful that we stayed in a hotel for our mini-vacation, even if the bed did squeak a bit.  (Oh come on, you didn’t think I was going to keep it all sappy, did you?)

My Girls.  As much as I realize there’s a me beyond being their mommy, ohmygosh I am so thankful for those two treasures.   I love how they play together, even when my living room floor is filled with pillows and I’m constantly told that I’m stepping in shark-infested waters.  And I love hearing them laugh when I collapse on the floor screaming in agony after one of the aforementioned sharks has bitten me on the leg.  I love how much I’m learning from them, about life and about myself. 

My Family.  Yes, we have had our ups and downs, and we continue to — especially when I’m cranky — but I love how we seem to come out from the downs stronger, and how we have the most fun during the ups.  I am so very thankful that my parents live nearby — and The Husband’s parents too.   I think I have to be one of the, if not the, luckiest woman in the world when it comes to parents-in-law.  And I am a huge fan of my sister-in-law and her husband.  And my sister’s husband?  Well, I would have picked him out for her if she hadn’t.

My Friends.  I am probably one of the, if not the, moodiest people I have ever met.  I don’t even know what to expect when it comes to my moods, so there’s no way any of my friends can know.  (I promise I’m working on that.)  I get my feelings hurt super easily, even when I know there’s no reason to.  It’s ridiculous.  In spite of these serious character flaws though, I have the most amazing friends.  I don’t know how they put up with me, but somehow they do, and they are generous, kind, loving, and patient.  And fun, so. much. fun.  I don’t know if I could handle boring friends — I’m glad I don’t have any!

My God.  Last, but most certainly NOT least.  I am so thankful that God decided it was a good idea to make the world, give the world Jesus, and for some odd reason, make me.  I don’t know how I would have made it through many of the things I’ve managed to get myself into without Him.  I don’t know where I would be now.  I don’t even want to think about it.  And I am so thankful that He is patient with me as I work out what I’m supposed to be doing for Him with my life.  Living for Him, yes, but what if there’s more?  I’m thankful that He’s always in the same place… And that makes me wonder why it takes me so long to find Him sometimes.  Duh.

And, really, there isn’t anything I shouldn’t be giving thanks for.  See? 

Happy Thanksgiving!

Note to Self: Noelle Edition

This Note to Self is coming to you a whole day early on account of the fact that I will not be able to post tomorrow, because I will be on a super duper awesome date with The Husband.  Thanks to Noelle for the many blog post topic suggestions, this one’s for her!

• You were asked how to become a blogger.  The only way that you can answer that is by telling how you yourself started.  Which was by setting up a WordPress account and just writing.  Writing about your own thoughts, your own life, your own shallow ponderings.  And it all started by blogging about American Idol on MySpace.
• You think My Life is Average used to be a lot more average.  People dressing up as dinosaurs to go to college isn’t so average.  But it’s still funny, and you still spend a lot of time reading things that are meant to be average but actually sound extremely fun and entertaining.  That might be a sign of how average your own life is.  Hmmm…
• Noelle thinks you are really good at photography.  You can’t really blog about it, because you don’t really have mad skillz.  You have friends with mad skillz with their amazingly impressive super duper fast clicking cameras.  You just take pics for the fun of it, and offer to take pictures of family and friends who are willing to get what they pay for with free photos. 
• Gift ideas?  Note to Noelle: Vanessa is the worst gift-giver in the whole entire history of the world.  You never know what people want!  You’re still trying to figure out what to get The Husband for Christmas … last year!  It’s such a challenge.  You almost, almost dislike receiving gifts because you never know what to get for those people that get you gifts.
• Your best Thanksgiving memory is … all of them.  Well, there is one really good one…  The first Thanksgiving with Big Sister around.  It was kind of bittersweet because it was also the first Thanksgiving without Granny.  But you remember your big, huge cousin sitting with a little tiny Big Sister on his lap.  He was playing with her and talking to her, and she was all of 2 months old.  He turned into a softy right before your very eyes.  Very touching, very sweet, and stands out among all the many Thanksgiving memories you have.
• You love comments, and the crazier the better.  Except the ones about male enhancement drugs.  Or naked pictures of celebrities.  You could do without those.  Many of your comments are from really cool people though.  Really, really cool and awesome people that you love.  And your mom, who is also cool and awesome and you love her too. 
• No, no, stop laughing.  Admit you have a beauty routine.  ADMIT IT!  Granted, you don’t know how well it works because even if you do get any compliments, you poo-poo them (work on that), but… You use Neutrogena for your face, because even though you’re a 30-something woman with two kids, you still get zits.  You don’t even get embarrassed buying a complete acne therapy system anymore.  *sigh*  You moisturize.  You always moisturize your neck in an upwards motion to prevent that whole saggy neck thing from happening.  You wear makeup all. the. time.  That’s not a necessary part of every woman’s routine, and you only wrinkle your nose a little bit at those women.  But you try to pay attention to makeup tips and suggestions.  You find what (you hope) works for you and stick to it.  The quest for the perfect mascara seems to be never-ending though.  That, and anything that will get rid of forehead wrinkles that does not require poison being injected into you.
• You are a childcare worker and so you know a lot about other people’s kids.  One day that might warrant a post.  One day.
• You think that FLORIDA FALL WEATHER ROCKS!  It is so worth waiting for.

How was that, Noelle? 

Have a great weekend!  I know I will!!!

*Blush*

Next on our list of suggested blog topics…

Well, Kristina, you gave me two options, but I’m only going to be able to use one of them.  Because, you see, I could not even begin to post about how to do Christmas cards.  When I tried to do a card or a letter in the past, I basically used the guest list from my various shower and wedding invites.  I figured if we cared enough to invite them, we might care enough to keep them up-to-date on what’s going on with our family.  But since I started blogging, and since Facebook, the list dwindled down to those I knew didn’t use the WWW for social networking or family reunions.  Now if we make a Christmas card, it gets sent as an attachment, or it’ll be seen in Wall Photos.

That’s kind of sad.  I actually like filling up my fridge with pictures sent to us.  Maybe I’ll have to work on that.  Maybe.

Let me talk about something infinitely sadder, though.

“Those guilty pleasure TV shows that one will rarely admit to watching.”

It all started here for me, in Los Angeles, with seven strangers picked to live in a house and have their lives taped.  I didn’t watch the first season, but I did watch after that for a while.  OH, THE DRAH-MA.  But I’m telling you, it was NOT as nastydirty as it looks like it has become.  I think the worst thing that happened in Season 2 was when the comedian guy tried to pull the sheets off the singer girl, and she and another girl felt frightened by him after that.  So they called a house meeting to discuss.  And he was out of there.  And… Was it the third season?  With Puck?  He got kicked out because he stuck his fingers in the peanut butter.  That, and snot rockets.  My, how times have changed.  I’m not feeling so guilty about that one anymore, considering I stopped watching long before there were threesomes in hot tubs.  But then…

Then came The Bachelorette.  THE ORIGINAL.  I watched the heck out of that show.  I thought Trista was adorable, and I’m sorry, but I loved the premise.  Twenty men chasing after one woman at one time?  In another life, that would have been my ultimate fantasy.  I don’t know if I could have even pretended that it was difficult to dismiss some of them.  “Psh.  You can go home.  You are WEIRD.”  Okay, maybe I couldn’t be that mean.  Actually, just last week I was told I was mean like that to a guy at some point.  I have zero recollection of that.  Must’ve blocked it.  ANYWAY.  Yes, I loved The Bachelorette.  Trista and her various suitors had me on the edge of my seat to the very end — and I had a viewing party.  Oh, yes I did.  And I am pretty sure I jumped up and squealed when she picked Ryan.  And I watched their wedding.  And they are still married, with two kids.  And I think a Yorkie.  And maybe a bigger dog for Ryan, because he’s all firefighter manly and stuff.

So I kept watching, like on and off.  I couldn’t stomach most of The Bachelor shows.  As I said in the past, I know that I could’ve been one of the bachelorettes in the first episode of any given season — because that’s the only episode I would’ve made it through.  You’d have seen me at the end, wiping a solitary tear from my cheek.  “I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.”  *sniff*  Roll credits.

Lots of people don’t like those shows, and I understand why.  One guy kissing maybe a half dozen girls in a span of five minutes, or a girl kissing a half dozen guys in that time, and as the seasons go by, there seems to be more flesh, and waaayyy more uncomfortable-to-watch making out.  (They didn’t call Jillian “Hot Tub Harris” for nothing.)  But when I watch them, it’s like a train wreck.

No, The Bachelor/Bachelorette shows are like… A fender bender.  Where people are kind of frustrated and tense, and maybe talking sternly to one another and you notice it as you drive by.

A train wreck would be…

That’s right.  Rock of Love.  I have admitted that I watched this show in the past.  Granted, both times I saw the show, I was laid up in bed, and one time I was on painkillers.  But I have to say, if Bret didn’t find his true rock of love with Taya, and they do another season, and there’s ever a time when I’m in the house alone, without The Husband and without The Girls, VH1 might just come on. 

Because really, those ladies are… well, not ladies.  I’m sorry.  I would like to be kind and give them the benefit of the doubt (and maybe some of them cleaned up their act on Charm School, but I don’t know because I didn’t get sucked into that one), but man.  They are all about getting drunk, getting naked, and getting… I’ll stop right there.  It’s actually hard to watch, and I’m not sure I ever made it through a full episode, but I did always turn it back.  It was… kind of fascinating, really.

And sometimes, Bret Michaels is funny.

But by and large, even if I don’t watch the disgusting parts of any of the shows — because The Husband will tell you that sometimes I cover my eyes during a Rumba or an Argentine Tango on Dancing With The Stars — I know that it’s not quality television that I’m watching.

So, I cannot attempt to make this deep and profound, because it’s crap TV.  And if Jesus walked in the room, I would change the channel.  Or, I might ask Him what’s under Bret Michael’s bandana.  But after that, I would change the channel.  I don’t know what I’d watch, probably something with Kirk Cameron in it.  Or maybe I’d turn off the TV and talk to Jesus.

 

 

*lightbulb*