A.D.D. my *ss

I can't believe I'm writing this again when "Yo Gabba Gabba" is on again. THIS is the post that should've been called "Write Again" dangit. I think there's something about the sound of the show & of course the zombie-like trance my daughter gets into while watching it that must inspire me to write.

"It's fun to make a snack. It's fun to make a snack. It's fun to make a snack!"

So, as moms, we become professional multi-taskers, jugglers - my husband thinks of it as A.D.D. I think nooOOOoooT! Dear Restless Hubby: "If I didn't do 20 things at the same time, you would be living in a disaster zone and Child Services would take our kids away because their appearance and behavior would resemble wild monkeys." Today I have: picked up all the rooms, made beds, vacuumed, made breakfasts, put away left-over (not-perishable of course) groceries, cleaned off tables and counters, changed diapers twice, nursed thrice, dressed one kid, put one to bed, 2 loads of laundry and who remembers what else in my way of spinning in circles. Now, I'm stalling getting ready to work on this business we're hoping to launch in the next month here. I will reveal all later. (Not because it's secret only because I'm too lazy to explain at this time).

I remember once talking to RH on the phone with one hand while brushing my teeth with the other and bouncing the baby in the bouncer with my foot. A.D.D.? Um, no. It's called survival.

Write Again

I don't know if you've noticed, but I have sort of a "love/hate" relationship with this blog. I've even thought of starting completely over with a new one thinking maybe I'd be more inclined to write without whatever the "thing" is that keeps me from writing in this one now. That "thing" is checking to see how many hits I've gotten, how many subscribers I have, feeling intimidated by the rockstar Mommy Bloggers out there and feeling that I'll never measure up. That "thing" becomes writing for the reader and not for myself. This has been my problem my whole life with most everything I do. I look too much to the outside for approval. If I don't get it, I get discouraged and usually quit. Or, I get too stressed out by pressuring myself to be better. Then, I move onto something else, and the cycle repeats.

Anyway, I've decided to at least stop checking my subscriber list. I don't have the service that counts hits anymore and I'll deal if I don't get any comments. I know, I sound so pathetic, but it's the truth. I am going to just start writing for myself. Maybe my writing won't measure up, but I really just need a place to - you know - do this.

So, now what I really want to write about:

MY STOMACH - or shall we say - "BELLY". I owe it all to the frckn Winchell's that opened up 5 blocks from our house. Seriously annoying. I was doing so good too! Back at my fighting weight, feeling normal when I sit down with maybe a little overhang, but a reasonable amount. Now, it's major overhangage. Like the kind on an overweight man that maybe is wearing his belt a couple notches too tight. I was going to illustrate it, but I'm too lazy. Probably part of the reason I look like an overweight fella.

Speaking of lazy, I really don't enjoy "Yo Gabba Gabba". What's the relationship you ask? That I'm too lazy to get off my now, squishy bottom, to play or do a craft or something with my daughter so she is not, yet again, watching Nick Jr.

Btw, don't know why I named this post what I did.

LIpstick Every Day

I quit my job while pregnant with my 1st about 4 years ago. Since then, I've lived in my pajamas, workout clothes, my hair in a pseudo bun/ponytail type thing, no powder, and - no lipstick. Sorry Mr. Restless.

I have not only enjoyed the fact that I haven't needed to "dress-up" for anything, I think I even had a little pride in it. The same feminist sort of pride I would have for not shaving my legs only when I was in a relationship of course - never when I was single - you kiddin' me! The thing is, is I never was a primping sort of broad anyway. I didn't need to wear a bunch of makeup to the store, or do my hair etc. , so it wasn't a huge stretch for me to not be "dressed up" all the time. Besides the party days when I was always dressed like a hoochie mama to the nines. But, I ALWAYS wore - lipstick.

Just recently, after having my 2nd baby, after looking homeless for the past 4 years, I actually started looking at myself. I also started thinking about who I used to be vs. who I am now. Always the same person on the inside, but vastly different from when I dressed like a hoochie mama cared about how I looked. Facebook and reconnecting with people from when I looked human might have played a part in this thought process.

So, I decided to start wearing lipstick everyday. I must confess, I haven't been doing it every day, but more often than never.

In the Indian culture, it's customary for women to be dressed up post-marriage. I always attributed to male chauvenism. Equivalent to the American culture before Equal Rights and unshaved armpits, when most housewives looked like Stepford Wives and Leave it to Beaver moms. Perfectly manicured, nicely dressed, perfectly groomed...to clean the house. Which I never understood, till now.

It's not about the husbands, and giving into society's standards on what women should look like or not look like. It's about feeling human. It's about feeling good about yourself while doing the most difficult job in the history of man...& the herstory of woman.

So, here I am, showered I know, hair blown-dry and straightened, powdered, wearing real clothes, smelling good, feeling human, & wearing lipstick.

Now, on to the dishes!

Coconut Bowl

PREFACE: My apologies to any and all football fans out there. This is my problem, not yours.

All my life, I have tried - o.k. - not ALL my life, but the parts of my life which include a male figure who I am attached to, that watches sports - and that I care about I believe Mr. Restless is the only one who fits all 3 criteria - I have tried TRIED to understand football. I'm not an idiot. I just think I have a mental block the way some people do with math. My brain just tunes out Charlie Brown style every time someone tries to explain it. "Wa wa wa wa wa". The draining sound of it in the background reminds me of how I'm not white American. I'm American, but not apple pie/blonde/cheerleader/WHITE - American. I am Indian-American not American-Indian/ Native American/tribal type - born in India, raised in American, coconut type. BTW, I'm not saying that all white Americans are apple pie/blonde/cheerleaders, but I'm sure most have grown up either hearing football in the next room, watching it on TV, being involved with it at school in the games or on the sidelines. Us Indian-Americans grew up hearing Hindi music in the next room, watching Hindi movies on TV, and maybe by chance heard our scotch-drinking, "pakora"-eating dads rooting for the team of their choice once a year at the annual Super Bowl party we all went to at Dr. Patel's house.

For me, the large, bubbly, over-grown men running around in shoulder pads and shiny tights from one end of the field to the other throwing a ball to each other, the draining static drone of it on TV; is not only boring as hell, it's a reminder of how alienated I felt in a predominately white-American school in the middle of the Bible-belt that was fueled by sports, athleticism, and extra-curricular activities that seemed to be happening everywhere around me & without me. I'm pretty sure this is the reason for the mental block that tunes out any sort of football education that comes my way.

Anyway, the draining static drone of Super Bowl was on today at our house...accompanied by Mr. Restless and my dad bonding while rooting for the Saints (I know, I actually knew the teams - impressed?), my daughter's and her friend's squeals and laughter, & my baby's happy gurgling in the background. Maybe it's time for new football memories. Maybe some day, I'll actually understand why these super-sized meatheads what these professional athletes take an hour to get the ball from one side of the field to the other and waste 5 hours fighting over who gets to do it are skillfully doing on the field in this complex game known as "football".

I doubt it.

Annual 10 Fashion Trends That Remind Me of How Old I Am

I don't understand. NOTE TO READER: More power to you if you are skinny enough (I hate you) can pull any of this off btw.

1. Piercing literally on the BODY (Like on the chest. Like the Rhianna look-alike on last season's The Real World. Yes, I watch it. And like it).

2. Girls jeans on boys.

3. Hair side-swept across and covering half the face.

4. Ugly stuff.

5. Why in the hell the 80's are back.

6. Skinny jeans (o.k. - I used to REALLY not understand them, now I just know I'd never be able to pull them off).

7. The pump/boot look crazy shoe that Gwyneth Paltrow always seems to showing off her legs with sporting.

8. Farrah Fawcett hair.

9. I don't know enough

10. to put anymore on here.