Mike Holmes is not actually God

Earlier this year my family and I were watching one of our new favourite shows: The Middle.  In one episode the mother berates herself for not having a more "perfect" family.  Number one: No such family exists.  Number two:  she tried to perpetuate some perfection by having the family sit down, eat dinner together instead of in front of the TV and share the best part of their day and the worst part.  We generally eat together as a family at the table.  It is very rare that we eat in front of the TV.  However, after that episode we laughingly tried the best and worst business and it kind of stuck.  Mostly because of my two youngest boys. 

Today this is the inspiration for my post.

BEST PARTS OF MY DAY: Spending some time with my two oldest children this morning running errands.  They got along!  We laughed and joked and talked and nobody was angry with anyone else! Cha-ching!

Next up was running into a friend and chatting with her about our respective life changes as of late.  Hearing that I am being described as a "completely different person" since my job situation occurred.

Front runner with the happy time with kids?  Eskimo Pie.  That's all I'm saying about that.  Well except that there is nothing sweeter or more soothing than a chubby baby with dark hair who is way too alert for a newborn.

WORST PARTS OF MY DAY: Guess what?  Despite my new found calm and inner peace as of late I learned this is not how all of my family members feel about our current situation and I feel beyond helpless.  And frustrated.  Which may be unfair but fuck it, I am happy.  Well at this very minute I'm not happy, I'm actually bitchy, but that's besides the point.  Parenting is hard. Duh.  I often crave simplicity and ease.  It will never happen because life is not about either of these things.  Which is what makes it good too.  I know this but every once in awhile, I'd like a break.

My husband not responding to my unspoken requests to do what the fuck I want right the fuck now.  There you have it.  I am mature enough to admit this.  I am guilty of it all of the time.  I tend to operate at pace ten times that of my husband.  He is someone who can revel in the delights of life at any pace.  And today was a good day for him.  And I?  Became annoyed because happy as he is?  He's in even less of a rush than usual. GRR. Argggghh.  We often have slight disagreements when shopping because I tend to use my 33 year old legs for what they are intended: walking at a brisk pace.  My husband uses his to stroll.  He is the motherfuckin' king of strolling. 

Driving?  Just about ends us sometimes.  I like to drive fast.  He likes to check other people's lawns, trucks, obey speed limits and smoke.  Which means he does not drive fast.  I could be hemorrhaging from my eyes and God forbid someone is renovating the exterior of their home and not doing something to code because then?  Good bye vision.  Hello white cane and a stirring rendition of what the code is and why Mike Holmes is next to God.

Finally, my 16 year old is currently serenading me with "Turn Around" by Bonnie Tyler. This likely falls in both categories.

Sigh.

My Name is Angela and I Blog

So there is no longer any reason to continue to be anonymous on this blog. Although if you found me through Twitter I wasn't all that anonymous to begin with. If you know me and what's been happening in my life over the past three weeks or so, don't panic. That is not the reason why I don't need to be anonymous anymore. I simply will only, from now on, blog about my personal life and the poor fashion choices and ignorant behaviour of other individuals encountered on my own time.

Like in line at a store.  I hate the people who don't put their purchases down on the belt thing-y. I like to put my things down. If I have a lot of stuff I want to start unloading. If I don't have a lot of stuff but more than I thought I was going to get meaning I'm trying to carry it all in my hand, get the fuck out of my way so I can put this shit down.  Arggh. So frustrating.  Some of you are now concerned about my need for control and OCD.  You probably should be.  My home calendar is color-coded and no one is allowed to write on it but me.  It's only right.

I am by no means a neat freak but there are certain things that have to be done a certain way. Oh and I have recently discovered that if I'm wound up, angry or concerned about something, I like to organize. It seems to be an attempt at controlling anything when really I'm in control of nothing.

Did I mention I like control?

And last but not least, please head over to http://77cher.blogspot.com/

This is where the madness started in August of last year.  I stopped posting on that blog at the end of June, although in hindsight I could've continued. Whatever. I feel some of my better posts are over there though, so if you are so inclined, please head over and have a look.  You can check out PMS Chronicles while you are there too.