Mi Amorcito

When I first saw this man back in October, I remember thinking that there was no way in hell he'd ever be actually interested in me. Just no damn way, people.  He's almost three years younger with three percent body fat and totally yummy. (I mean the accent alone, guys!) What in hell can I offer this man?!?!

Obviously a lot as it turns out because he has chosen me. Shut the Front DooR!!!

And better than that...he is all about me begin as girly as I absolutely want to be. In fact, he encourages me to get my nails done. I asked him if he thought it was a stupid expense and he replied, "Are you going to get them redone every 3 days?"

"Well, no; that's just silly."

"Then there is nothing wrong with you needing to get your nails done. It makes you feel good."

Sorry girls, he's all mine.

He is encouraging my weight loss and reminding me to eat (he used to check that I ate breakfast every day until it became a habit), but not because I'm big; because, "The kids and I need you around a long time, baby." I must say it's easy to eat well around him because he eats so well. Fruit, vegetables, rice, protien, smoothies...he likes good fod, but it isn't a NEED for him. Food fuels his body; it's not something he lives for.

Hummm...What a novel concept.

Actually, he asked me what I thought the other day because he was afraid he is getting too skinny. I told him that I would fatten him up soon enough with some good Southern cooking, but I wouldn't change a single thing about him. I have seriously never thought hip bones were sexy on a man until recently. Wow. Really.

Anyhoooooooo....

I feel myself blossoming under his light. I can remember once liking the feeling of being girly and feminine, but I stopped because it became passe'. I love the feeling of wearing dresses and feeling pretty...and I do. Where a majority of my life I always felt my weight (regardless of what I weighed) and felt awkward in pretty clothes because I didn't think I was pretty enough to wear pretty clothes.

For some reason I thought that pretty clothes highlighted my lack of pretty by drawing attention to myself instead of helping me become prettier. I know I'm not crazy and other people have felt the same way...right?

Now, as I stand beside him, I feel like the most beautiful girl in the room. Seriously. I do not notice who is prettier or skinnier or has a cuter outfit; I just focus on us and how good I feel around him. It's like the huge mountain of uncertainty disapears and I can finally relax into my skin. I have more fun. I smile more. I laugh more. I stress less. I fidget less. (This is HUGE in itself!) And all of these things are felt both with and without kids. I am as relaxed with all 3 kids as I am with just us 2. He just lets me be me and really loves it.

My cousin commented months ago that it was true love becasue I said I felt skinny around him. It's true. I do. I'm am never self conscious of my weight around him and when I've said I could wear something I've seen in a store window he has just looked at me oddly and said, "Why?" Like the fact that I'm probably around 70 pounds overweight has never really occured to him.

God, I love that Latin men like women with meat on their bones. Because while I may never lose all of this 70 pounds (even though I'm really trying and it's decreasing sssslllowllllyyyyyyy), he will still think I'm just as beautiful at a smaller size as he does right now. I mean...I'm going to get nothing but better!

Hell, I may be freaking impossible to live with by the time I lose a bit more weight. 


For example, I bought a dress on a whim. I thought it was pretty, but I would have NEVER even attempted to wear at any other time in my life...even when I was in college! But I bought this cute, lilac colored, strapless dress with ruffled tiers. (see below)

 I wore it out the other night with a little black shrug and wedge heels with black flowers onteh strapes and his eyes bugged out of his head. "Baby, this dress this dress!!! You look georgous!! Where did you get this dress!"

Don't ask me what anyone else was wearing that night. And don't bother asking his what anyone else was wearing because he proudly held onto me the entire night. I felt like a queen. I fetl like no one has ever made me feel before...I felt like my Pop finally wasn't full of total shit for the past 33 years...I felt beautiful.

Holy shit...I guess I am beautiful after all.  :)

When the excitment just isn't there.

Have you ever really wanted to get excited about something, but just couldn't work up the nerve? That's what I'm currently feeling right now.

You see, I have 2 interviews this week and although I really want to get all pumped and excited about, I'm feeling a bit underwhelmed. Ok, I won't bullshit you guys, I'm scared as hell to get excited because, let's face it, I haven't had the best of luck in the interview department. I mean-Really. Now, I have also already interviewed for a job at this same school...humm, it was about this time last year as a matter of fact.

Needless to say, I didn't get the job. And I should have. Although, maybe they realize that now. 

Maybe that's a leg up or perhaps it just makes me look desperate as hell. I guess looking desperate isn't SO bad because, again something to face guys, I am. 


I also have  date this weekend.  And this would be another area I haven't been having the best of luck in.  It's funny though, I wasn't ever a dater before. Seriously. I jut kinda fell into relationships and never really was the girl that went on dates and "played the field". I never questioned it because, while I think I'm pretty damn cute, I realize that I was not, am not, and never will be that girl that instantly gets noticed from across the room. It's ok and it's not from a lack of self esteem, I promise. I'm just Jamie and there's nothing so eye catching and fantastical that instantly attracts the whole idea of eyes meeting from across the crowded, smoky room. That's not how I roll and that's ok. I'm more of the cute girl that becomes a "wow" after a conversation or two. Yep, I'm personality attractive. (And it's always pissed me off that "She has a great personality translates to "she's not attractive".)

So, I find it confusing to be this serial dater now. I'm not kidding. I've gone on dates with 3 (this Sat will be guy 4) since August and only one has made it to date 3. One of them would have had schedules been more kind and he not freaked out about my kids, but that' snot my problem. (Actually, I think he's trying to maneuver another one, but I'm only going to bite if I see some serious motivation on his part- then I'll think about it.  But please no one think I'm holding my breath...no really.) 

Anyway, at least the guy this Saturday has a little boy so he understands the idea of time constraints and responsibility that comes with molding a little person's life. He's also "motivated" (his words not mine) to drive anywhere at anytime to spend time with me. Odd. I'm not even sure why I should think it's odd, but I swear it fills me with trepidation.  I feel like I should dig into his psyche and find the hidden reason. Maybe it's because I never gave anyone the chance to act that way towards me or maybe I just kept picking the guys that wouldn't. Humm, probably both.

I've always done for other people because I really don't expect anything done for me. How sad that I do not expect a fuss to be made over me, but let's face it, having never been a "squeaky wheel" I've never had an abundance of attention lavished on me. I've always been able to disappear into the background. Convenient, but not exactly the fodder of dreams, ya know.

I think I'm just in the "Meh, why the hell should I get excited about something that will potentially disapointing and probably not work out anyway" phase. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not feel depressed and, yes, I've been taking my meds, but I just can't motivate myself to get all giddy and excited about either interview or my date. Does this mena that my natual optomism is fading and a pessimistic realism is taking over? Ugh, I hope not. How depressing would that be?

Maybe I just need a vacation.  or maybe I just need SOMETHING to fucking work out-at least for a minute.

Just guessing...

A Friend's Happiness

I awoke to some of the best news that has absolutely does not involve me in anyway at all!  My sorority sister got engaged last night!

(Isn't she precious?!)

Now, she isn't just a sorority sister though, she and I have gone to school together since I was in first grade AND we played softball together when we were 5...I have known this girl for a minute!!

She had one of those wonderfully successful "right out of college" like I did, but she was smart enough to leave WAY before I did. She and her little man have been a two person family since he was 15 months old-now he's six.

She was the first to reach out and lift me out of my personal despair when I thought I'd never be able to survive begin a single mom. In fact, she probably would have helped me become a single mom way before I did had I been "allowed" to hang out with my Thetas more. (You just can't hide misery from the ones that know you best.)

Anyway, she was also the first to show me that a single mom could find love and happiness with someone new...that fairly tales really did happen. Until then I wasn't really certain it was possible.

However...

around, this time last year we heard all about this guy she met. Suddenly this woman who had been contentedly single was considering coupledom. Now, the road wasn't exactly easy because when you put two people who had been broken in the past there are all sorts of hurdles and repairs to be made before you become brave enough to walk that wire again, but we could all tell that those two particular broken hearts could only be healed when they were stitched together.

They just seemed to fit and be happier together then they could ever be apart.

So, last night they had a nice little night out with friends and the most wonderful thing happened...but I've told you about that already.

Congratulations to the wonderful new engaged couple. May the years be long, happy, and smooth because you both deserve it!!!!!

Thing 1's Journey

So, I've talked about the recent struggles that T has been having in school lately and you guys have been very outspoken and supportive. Thank you.

He was suspended from school yesterday for the same behavior from the last time I blogged about him (he did it on Monday and Tuesday, which is why he was suspended on Wednesday) and, at the suggestion of my sister, I went ahead and and took him to the doctor yesterday while he was "out".

To be fair, he also has had a cough for a few days too.

So, we went to the doctor (a new pediatrician too, but I did make sure I picked the woman since he's more comfy with women than men.). I promised no shots so he was more than willing to go.

He instantly loved the nurse (There is something my son LOVES about black women and blonds. What/ It's true!!) Anyway, the doctor came in and he loved her too. (Perhaps it was the blond highlights, idk.)

She checked his breathing, among other things, and gave me a proscription for his sinus, beginning bronchitis cough....

then I had her check out his face where my sister's fucking dog bit him...ON THE FACE! (Kim, I'm sorry but that dog is going to die when I see him next. Just saying. I'd kennel him for Christmas if you want him to live.)  Anyway, I wanted to see what I could put on the developing scar to minimize it. Seriously, I'm very excited about the keloid that is developing. Really. Thank you genetics that  get nothing, am I mean absolutely nothing (not a tan, not the beautiful think, black hair)  from my Indian blood except the whole keloid scar thing...and then my son gets it too-on his face. Fucking Really??!! Thanks....that rocks....sigh

Anywhooo. I ended the visit with this jem of communication brilliance, "I know he's only four, but, I mean, he's really having trouble in school and at home."

She listened as I went into greater detail about some of the "issues" that we've been dealing with, but was not surprised because she had watched this child literally bounce around the room since she walked in. She asked the question I was waiting for..."Is there anyone else in the family that has these issues." Is there?! "Um, me, my dad, his father, my sister's four kids, my sister, my aunts, a majority of my cousins...and almost all of them/us are medicated in some way for it."

So, she gave me an evaluation to fill out and one for his teacher to fill out.

There were so many things floating through my head as I read it.

• Almost all of these thing sound like him
• Almost all of these things sound like me
• How sad and overwhelmed my baby must feel a majority of the time
• How much I loath the idea of medicating my baby boy, but desperately want him to have an easier time in school than I had.

While I was never a hyper active kid, I was and still am a fidgeter. Something on my body is always in motion-usually it is my leg or foot. (My kids were never really rocked to sleep as babies; they were lulled to sleep by my leg shake-think metronome.)

I would also miss chucks of information because my mind would drift away either in a daydream or get distracted watching out the window. Now, I certainly never admitted to that because I thought my Pop would kill me for goofing off in class and it was never noticed because I was a good kid that never was any trouble and my grades were good. (I always doubled my efforts and learned the information I missed myself so I could keep my grades up.)

My real problems were manifested in anxiety.

I also didn't know that I had a problem with anxiety until I was pregnant with Caitlin. I really always thought that everyone would get severe stomach aches (and occasionally either gag or throw up) anytime they had a test, exam, speech, project, or was called on in class to answer a question. Normal people would get overwhelmed with the thought of every single worst case scenario anytime they left the house right? Maybe  the entire body physically shaking and and overwhelming "bad feeling" about things might have been a bit odd, but my whole family tends to be "high strung" so it's a family thing, but everything else is pretty standard.

Well, it turns out that no, no it's really not normal.

Go figure.

And each time T would display "Jamie" tendencies I would just say, "Poor thing, he's so much like me."

Now, after I finally was told-no, I did not come to this realization myself, I had to be TOLD- I began looking at my child differently. It made makes me sad that he has this same shadow over his head that dims every situation and makes it almost impossible to fully enjoy life.

This is why when asked if I'd ever consider coming off of lexapro I say, "Are you fucking kidding? Hell no!"

Since being medicated myself I love my life. I can taste the highs and lows, savouring each flavor without it spoiling everything else. Now I may be given the opportunity to give T that same gift, the gift of calm. The gift of feeling sane and normal all the time. The gift of not choking on constant fear of people, situations, success, failure, and everything in between.



Is it worth it? Until he's old enough to make the choice for himself...yeah, I think it just might be worth it.

Damn Right!

Since MJ finally got home from Jackson, I slipped out f the house for a little quiet Jamie time this afternoon. I had nowhere in particular in mind to go, but I was just happy to be unencumbered and alone in the world.

Now I noticed as I got dressed for my outing that my top seemed a bit less fitted than before and my jeans were just big. Now these are the jeans I bought in April that were a bit snug in the waist, but fit in the legs. Right now I can pull these suckers on and off without unbuttoning them-straight out of the dryer no less.

So walking around I began to feel kinda frumpy because I kept having to pull them up and the bagginess was actually making me look bigger. (Not a good thing since I've been feeling a bit delicate for the past few days anyway.) I even found a pair of boots I liked, but they just looked totally off with the pants I was wearing; just wrong.

SOOOO, I decided to try on some new pants.  

Now, to be perfectly honest, I didn't think they'd fit. Seriously. I mean , I've learned that just because one size pants are baggy absolutely does NOT mean the next size down will fit. Women's sizes are just retarded like that.

I walked into the store and headed straight for the sales rack and found 5 pairs of jeans on the rack. *sigh* Five. I wasn't feeling very optimistic since the first pair I touched were not just big, but BIG, if ya know what I mean. The next pair were bigger than me too. The third pair were the wrong color-sorry I do not like light colored jeans. And, yes, I can afford to be the picky; it'd be MY ass that looks huge, people.

So, four was my magic number because it was the size I needed. it was so cool to pick up that pair of pants and carry them back to the dressing room...again, not actually thinking they would fit, but hoping. However, I was not hoping enough that my fingers were crossed or anything. I was just willing to accept whatever happened in the dressing room-otherwise known as the outer rim of hell.  

Legs in...they were much closer fitting than the ones I just took off so I figured they'd stop at my hips.

Oh, get out they slid right over my hips without even a wiggle. Score!

Ok, so I do have to suck in a skosh to button them, but it was worth it. Why? Because I'm telling you guys that my legs and my butt looked good on those pants. Plus, do you know how long it's been since I've slipped on a pair of size 16 jeans, people?

Conservatively, I'd say since about 2001. Yep, 9 years since I've had my butt comfortably in a pair of jeans that size. Hummm, excuse me for a moment, I have to do a celebratory happy dance now....







almost done.....






not quite done yet.......






Ahhhh, ok. I think I'm finished, at least for the time being, but I can't promise I won't randomly break into crazy dance moves in the near future. I'm just excited...and I think I wanna go put them on again.

Oh,and just so you guys know...I have NO idea how I am managing this whole shrinkage thing, but I'm going to enjoy, embrace, and accept it...and possibly help it along on purpose.

Happiness Recipe a'la Blake

Because I am a huge, phenomenal dork, I randomly search for cool quotes to use for my FaceBook statuses. I figure that everyone can only hear about my love of wine, the potty train status of my children, or the general progress of my day for so long before they just reaaaally don't giveafuck...plus, there are times when I just bored myself. I mean, I look at the things I've written and all I can think is, "Damn you are one sad, no-life having, super boring broad, aren'tcha McCarty? Wow!"

Hence the quotes that try to explain my random moods much more eloquently than I am able to do on the fly. (Ok, so if I tried I probably could, but it's FB people. Do I really need to put that much thought into it?)

The William Blake quote I found today may actually stay up for a while because it instantly made my mind begin to spin with ideas and possibilities...

The essentials to happiness are something to love, something to do, and something to hope for.

After thinking about it I think I'll make a list of each, almost list a list of blessings, except this is more like a recipe for Blake's  Happiness....(I do SO love a list)

Something to Love? My children. My family. My friends. My job(s). Coffee. Sparkly anything. Fresh flowers. The sound of my babies' laughter. Cuddling, kisses, and hugs. Daydreaming. Getting texts that make me smile. Sunsets. (I probably love Sunrises too, but I'm not a fan or being awake for them.) Jangly bracelets. Cooking meals that happily fill tummies. Singing in the car. Hearing my kids sing. The size of my clothes slowly decrease. Bright colors. Toile.  

Something to Do? Attempt sewing. Teach (sometimes) willing minds. Cause spontaneous smiles to erupt from those around me when I smile. Make jokes. Play outside with my kids.  Wander voyeuristicly around FaceBook. Read almost everything I can get my hands on-whenever possible. Avoid unpleasantness, maybe a bit too much. Work on my WIP. Daydream. Search for my place in the world. Work towards my dreams. make the clothing size decrease more quickly.

Something to Hope For? Winning the mystery Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes, like they swear I will. Looking into the future and not feeling a cool line of fear slide down my spine. Text messages that make me smile. The day my 3 person family lives on our own. Finishing my WIP. Finding an agent. Finding my own little place in the world. Sailing on a Disney cruise. Traveling far and wide. Making my daydreams a reality. My kids to have a dad. Remarrying. My clothes being in single digits.

While I'm sure my lists will shrink and swell with each passing day and moment, but as of right now...that's all I got...And from the look of it, I got quite alot to be happy about.   

What's y'all's recipe?

Shut the Front Door!

I'd like to open by thanking my Faithful Few, who has grown to a whopping twenty-two.

(Did that sound kind of Seussical to anyone else? Hee Hee!) 

veintidós. vingt-deux. venti-due. Είκοσι-δυο. Dwadzieścia dwa. tjugo-två. ยี่สิบสอง. Ashirin da biyu. Twenty-two!!!

When this little project of mine started I seriously didn't think anyone would read my aimless droning and whiny ramblings.


Ummmm.....


Well, I take that back, I thought my family would read it because, let's face it, we are genetically predisposed to be nosey and get all up in everyone else's business and comment. Hence, the perfect way to purge my personal demons AND allow my family to practice our favorite past time. (Notice I am saying OUR and not THEIR. Ohh, I am soooooooooooo guilty of this.)

Anyway, it's totally amazing to me that people I do not share genetic markers with actually read what I write. In fact, I checked out the "Stats"  tab and found that I had had readers in North Korea (WTF?) and New Zealand, among other places. Seriously, 2 from North Korea. I'm fucking international people!!! WooHoooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

However, all excitement aside, I really appreciate the time all of you (even those who are "officially" followers, we will SO go into why you are officially following me another time...you know who you are!) take by reading my randomness, or rather embracing my crazy little chaotic, ADHD, who-the-hell-knows-what-I-am-thinking-least-of-all-me, often bitchy, and occasionally mournful epistles. (One of you, and you know who you are, said I didn't whine, but let's be honest...I do. I know I do. I'm cute and foul-mouthed a majority of the time, but when the mood strikes just wrong I am overdramatically and fatalistically morose. It, too, is a genetic trait shared by several among you-only because, you  know, the whole genetic marker sharing thing.) 


I am humbled and honored beyond reason that you guys desided to join me on my journey. God only knows what will happen next, but I'm sure hoping for my broken, gravel road to disapear behind me as I cruise ahead on something more akin to cobblestone. Let's face it, I know I have a long way to go before I can get to a nice, smooth, asphalt interstate and I'm all right with that.  Cobblestone gives me balance while allowing me to experience all of life's little quirky bumps, plus I kinda dig the whole Victorian feel of it.  


Thanks for the love, the support, and the constant ego boost that comes from each click you make on this site.


All My Love...
Me

Let it Burn!!

I just HAVE to tell you guys what happened today!!! I received a letter from the ex. (You, know, whatshisname.)

Anyway, I decided to read the letter because, "whynot right?" and I wanted to laugh out loud. Actually, I think I did laugh out loud. then I immediately handed it to my Pop to read and MJ read it after that. It was almost like I was in jr high letting all my friends read the creepy guy note after I'd already told him to buzz off. It was purely meant to humiliate the sender and vindicate my decision to tell him to buzz off. (This is a hypothetical situation only for me. I was never the mean girl, even when I really wanted to be (that's yet another post I guess). I was, however, often the "friend" that got to read the humiliating letters.)  

Regardless...he wrote to tell me happy birthday. In fact, the exact wording was, "I know you birthday isn't until next Monday..." 

BUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What an amazing testament to our eight (count them eight) year marriage. For those playing the home game, my birthday is on Tuesday the 28th, not Monday the 27th. Nice huh? Nine years together, eight years married, two children, and he still can't remember my fucking birthday.

Happily, I only laughed at both the gaff and the letter itself because, dear friends, it bothered me not! Absofuckinglutly not!! Go me!!  If you read the previous posts you probably have a vague idea about why, but if not suffice it to say that I believe I can finally and with all certainty close the door on all of that nonsense.

It feels good to be free. And, by damn, it feels good to be me.