My Weekly Writing Assignment

It's that time of the week again: my weekly writing assignment from Mama Kat. Here are the prompts I've chosen for this week:


1. My 10 biggest fears [Will be doing this one today]

2. Write about a memory related to a holiday [Will be doing this one tomorrow]


*ahem*

My 10 Biggest Fears

10) Driving in the snow. Don't laugh, I'm serious! I hate driving in the snow if the roads aren't plowed and de-iced. If I have to drive through fresh snow - or worse: slush - I panic. I'll have the wheel at 10 and 2, white-knuckling it all the way, arms stiff as a board, creeping along at 10 miles per hour.

9) The dark. I said don't laugh at me. I'm not afraid of the dark, per se. I can sleep in the pitch dark. What I don't like is walking into a dark room with no light source at all. I have an illogical fear of what could be lurking in the corners or at my feet. What if a very large, very crunchy bug made its way into the room and has strategically positioned itself in my path? (On the record: as I typed that last sentence, I envisioned the scenario and a got a huge case of the heebeejeebies.)

8) Fire I have only one even remotely close to personal experience with a house fire. When I was 14, my then-boyfriend's house burned down. I got there towards the end of the fire. They lost everything as far as I can remember. I remember their mom being heartbroken. I remember the chaos, the destruction and the sadness and worst of all: the smell. To this day, I never leave anything cooking if I'm leaving the apartment, I make sure all electrical appliances are turned off and that in case they aren't and I don't realize it, I make sure everything flammable is far away from the stove and toaster. A bit obsessive-compulsive? Maybe. I'm okay with that.


7) Home invasion We live in a gated apartment community. Theoretically, no one except residents should be able to get in, but I've seen people jump the gate before and I've seen people wait until residents open up the gate and they tailgate in. Now, we could shut and lock all doors and windows at night but when the unit has no air conditioning and no heat, you have to rely on the great outdoors to keep the temperature tolerable. To add fuel to my fire, our loft bedroom upstairs has two window, both of whose sills are about 12 inches from the roof. That is to say, if a person had a good ladder, could climb a tree, or lived here and left out of another apartment's bedroom, they could skitter across the roof and step into our bedroom with little to no effort. Of course, we have implements of protection in place, and aren't afraid to use them if necessary, but it still frightens the bejeezus out of me.

6) Reptiles I don't know what it is but they freak the everlovin' HELL out of me. "They" being: snakes, frogs (yes, I know they're amphibians but I still lump them into this category because they're cold, creepy, and swift), small lizards, et al. I can get within 10 feet of a frog or small lizard. But snakes? I'll pee my pants. If I see a snake at any distance that isn't in a terrarium, I hyperventilate, I start to sweat, I run in the other direction and quite literally, PANIC. Rob likes to make fun of me for it, as well as other things on this list, and that really pisses me off. I think it's only because he has no unfounded fears so he can't grasp how real they are to me.

5) Falling I'm not afraid of heights. If I'm in an enclosed environment like a plane, treehouse, skyscraper, stuff of that nature, I'm just dandy. But if I'm in a hot air balloon, at the top of a lighthouse, on a big bridge, going down a steep trail or road on foot, I freeze. I clam up. I'm like a donkey: I will. not. budge. I'll sit, but I won't move forward. I can't explain this one. I'm just afraid of falling.

4) Drowning I think this kind of ties in with falling. I did fall into a pool when I was 3 or 4, and nobody came in to rescue me, presumably because they thought I knew how to swim, and I had to pull myself out by climbing up the steps. I don't know if that's the root of it but nobody was ever able to teach me how to swim or tread water. So now I'm scared to death of any water that goes over my shoulders or has a tide. Needless to say, I've never spent an exorbitant amount of time in the ocean. In pools, I cling to the shallow end or swim a lap to the deep end, gather some air and swim back. No diving and no pool games for this girl! It's sad, really, nearly 30 years old and I can't enjoy a pool.

3) Dying This isn't to say I'm afraid to die. I have two theories on death: either I'll go from being alive in the physical world to being alive in the spirit world or everything I deny is true and I'll go to heaven. Guess that's a wait-and-see game! That aside, I'm afraid of being dead. I'm afraid of watching my husband move on - even though he swears up and down that he'll never remarry, I'm constantly insistent that if I do die, I want him to find someone to spend the rest of his life with - and of watching my children grow up without me. I'm afraid of never meeting my grandchildren. I'm afraid of not getting to grow old. I actually want to grow old with my husband and family around me, watch my hair go gray, and watch me turn into my mom, flawed and all.


2) Losing my husband He's my everything. In the seven short years we've known each other we've become inextricably part of each other and to abruptly have him gone from my life would be like ripping off an arm and telling me to go about life like I always have. I couldn't. I wouldn't know what to do with myself. Who would I share stupid jokes with? Who would I turn to when I'd had a crappy day? Who would I enjoy life's little mysteries with? What would our kids do without their daddy? How would I explain that to them? I've gone through nearly half of my life without my dad and I wouldn't wish that on anyone whose relationship with their dad was a good one.


1) Something happening to my kids I mean this in every sense. I'm afraid, first and foremost, of something happening to them: terminal illness, kidnapping, car accident, etc. Something that would be out of my control. I hate not being in control and having no say in what concerns my children. I get sick at the thought of them being harmed in any way. They are the most precious things I've ever called "mine" and I get super-paranoid about stuff like this.

I think I need a drink now. Or Valium.

A Baby By Any Other Name Would Still Be Bubba.

So as I've mentioned, mom's coming to visit next month. With her she brings a suitcase full of attitude (which she'll be paying an extra $15.00 for, thank you Northwest Airlines) and under her hat she'll have some fabricated snootiness. She'll sneak it past security, she's stealthy like that. A wolf in sheep's clothing.

I'm sure I've mentioned it along the way and if not, no time like the present: my husband we've nicknamed our son "Bubba." As if our redneck flag didn't fly high enough already we had to have a kid whose moniker has been etched in country music fans' minds as the man who shot the jukebox because it made him cry. Went to his truck and got a forty-five, don't ya know.

I didn't like or want it at first. The name, that is. Definitely wanted the baby. He was too cute to give back. I fought that nickname for a few days, insistent that there had to be a different, less Bayou-La-Batre-and-shrimpin'-boats nickname we could bestow upon our son. But no, he was to be Bubba. To this day I call him Robby a few times a day to get him used to his real name but he has yet to answer to it.

At any rate, we had some strong opposition to this name. My father-in-law and stepmother-in-law have given in to calling him Bubba but did refer to him as Little Robby for a few months. My mother-in-law calls him "the baby." My mom, however, is its most staunch opponent. She refuses to call him Bubba. She just won't. She say "the baby" or "Robby," but never "Bubba."

I honestly don't see the big deal. He has plenty of time to learn his real name, the name teachers will read aloud when they do roll call at school. He's a smart kid and we're hoping to dispell the myth that all Bubbas are dumbass hicks who don't give a hoot about education. Mom, on the other hand, I think she's convinced he'll do nothing but live up to the nickname if we insist on keeping it.

I've tried telling her, nay, warning her that during her stay, he's not likely to respond to "Robby." He always answers to "Bubba," but never "Robby." She doesn't care! She'd rather call him by a name he may respond to if only because of the familiarity of double-bs, maybe 20% of the time, than by a name that will get her a smile every time. Stubborn elitist.

Seriously, it's just a name! Get over it, woman!


more animals

A Mothers Conundrum

When parenting dilemmas arise - when to potty train, who gets to give the 3 a.m. bottle, how to explain "gentle" to a six-month-old - Rob and I are usually able to hash things out pretty easily. But when a dilemma arises that doesn't seem to have an immediate answer or quick fix, we're left at a dead-end road. What do you do when you have two children under the age of three who refuse their dads comfort at nearly every turn and go running to mommy at the drop of a hat?

When he tries to tickle Beth or joke around with her, which he's done since she was born and she used to love, she starts whining and fake crying, yelling out for and running to me. It's only been in the last few months that she's turned this corner and it's really weird! I know she's three and at this age they're prone to parental preference still but it doesn't stop it from really sucking for Rob. He loves that little girl to pieces, would lasso the moon and stars for her if she asked, and brags to everyone he knows about what a great kid she is...and she's a giant turd in the punchbowl. I don't know how to turn this around. My heart really aches for him; I couldn't imagine having my own child reject my affection!

And the baby? Just as bad but in a non-verbal way. If I leave for fifteen minutes - hell, if I leave for FIVE minutes - he's a screaming snotty mess. I mean he's in an all-out meltdown. Rob tries everything: rocking him, bouncing him, doing the things we know makes him laugh, bottle, snack, toys, singing. NOTHING WORKS. I walk in the door and he stops crying, stops sobbing, stops all the waterworks and starts smiling again. How crushing that must be! And we both know it's because he's a baby and babies almost always prefer their moms, especially when the mom is a SAHM and the dad is gone from 7 a.m. till 5 p.m.

He gets really bummed out about it and I don't blame him a bit. It's frustrating for me, too, because when one kid needs me the other will inevitably find some reason to start screaming. I get angry at Rob for not helping even though I know there's nothing he can do to calm either child and then he gets mad at me (understandably) and it's just a really crappy cycle.

Someone please tell me that the kids will snap out of it. That my husband won't be walking around like Eeyore because "nobody cares about an old grey donkey."

My Truth About Motherhood

If there is one thing I wish someone had told me about motherhood, it is this: your child will force you to face your flaws and become a better person. Your child will not only make you work on yourself as a whole, but want to change yourself.

I wish I'd known how proud I'd be when my oldest child said her first word at 23 months. I always assumed I'd have a perfectly normal kid. No one told me that sometimes, kids aren't perfect. Who knew?! My daughter had/has a speech delay, she's about eight months behind the curve.

I wish I'd been prepared for how hard and how often she would cry. I wish I'd known there'd be nights I wouldn't sleep AT ALL. I never thought I'd spend over a year feeding her peanut butter sandwiches and chicken because that's all she'd eat. I never knew that a little cut on the forehead would send me into a full-on panic, half-convinced she'd need stitches (when in fact, it scabbed over and healed within a week), making me the saddest mommy ever.

I wish someone would have told me how hard I'd have to control my anger every time she disobeyed me. I didn't know how hard I'd have to work on not criticizing her at every turn; my mom did this to me for years and I always swore I'd never let that happen to my daughter. I struggle with this daily.

The truth about motherhood is that it shakes you to your core. It brings every imaginable emotion to the surface and forces you to stare at it, like a gaping wound. It makes you acknowledge your flaws and your strengths. It turns you into a lioness, protecting her cub on a very primal level. It makes you question your abilities as not just a parent, but as a member of society.

But what I really wish someone had warned me about...is how I'd have to choke back tears of joy and pride when, after a long day of potty training, reading nine Dr. Seuss books three times each, and a screaming match over eating two bites of chicken for dinner, my three-year-old would run up behind me on the floor, throw her arms around my neck and say, "Mama! Mama! I love you."

Check out these links to understand the truth about motherhood...
Advice from the Girlfriends
The Parent Bloggers Network