I’ll take two please…

On Decor8 today —

Pretty sure I’ll be needing this on my kitchen wall which is in dire need of something pink (who knew?)…..

via 8 Hour Day - Sugar In Pink

And this on my guest bathroom wall…

via 8 Hour Day

And the prints are super affordable…

for people with jobs…

which does not include me.

So, I’ll just pretend they are on my walls.

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Control

I never thought of myself as much of a control freak, but the older I get and the more “stuff” that gets piled onto the plate of my life, the more I feel the need to just CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL.  My husband will tell you I’ve been like this since he met me, and my Mom will probably tell you I’ve been this way since I was born and I’m pretty sure my best friend would just tell you stories about how bossy I was when we were growing up — the point is, I never saw myself as this in control person.  As a matter of fact, I never felt like I really had a plan, and my life took a completely random track right about the time I was allowed to start exerting some sort of control over my own destiny.  I was all over the map.  But in retrospect, I guess I did end up doing everything I set out to do and I did it on my own time table and without requesting permission for most of it.  So I guess even in being an out of control teen (who dropped out of high school and went straight to college), played around with a lot of people/things she shouldn’t have, moved from parent to parent, etc. I was still somehow in control of my own life.  I didn’t make a lot of compromises, and I’m pretty sure I got/get called selfish a lot.  But it’s worked out well for me.

Wow.  I guess that sounds a little self absorbed — but now that I’m older and have a family, I’m finding that being uncompromising and controlling can help in a lot of ways and be unnervingly infuriating in others.  Apparently I’m a planner.  I like lists.  I like to know the schedule of the day.  I like to know times.  I like punctuality.  I like accomplishing the things I set out to within the time I set to accomplish them.  It sounds so nurotic and crazy and very “who the hell wants to hang out with that person?!” when I see it in writing, but in reality, I only function that way on a really basic level.  High priority things get shoved to the “freak out and control” level of my brain.  Say, this whole having another baby thing and being completely unprepared and planning the room moves and what we have to buy and promising to visit people before the baby comes and holy shit that’s only like 2 months away!  That kind of stuff?  Way up there on Jessica’s code Red control panel.  Coincidentally, things like the laundry, the dishes, the toys scattered around my house, feeding the dogs, cleaning the car, planting my flowers, etc. are nowhere on my planning/control list.  They are the every day things that I know if I put my massively annoying control trait towards I could knock out every day and probably be a hell of a lot less bitchy.  But alas, my oh-shit meter only goes so high and the little things (daily chores) seem to fall away while my higher level brain function dwells on baby, finances, job, registering cars, travel planning, why my house smells like animal urine, why is this stretch mark here already (?!), did I give Charlotte lunch yet, and the like.

Actually, this whole post was prompted by the fact that I had PLANNED on leaving for South Carolina with Charlotte and my mother tomorrow morning and with that plan a lot of other little things had been planned (like registering the new car so Abram had a way to get to work while I was gone, lots of laundry to prep, packing/unpacking from our trip to Maryland this past weekend, coordinating other family members meeting us in South Carolina to see Charlotte) and then at the 11th hour my mother calls and tells me to unpack our bags because she has bronchitis and conjunctivitis and some other -itits and she can’t go.  So, while I’m sympathetic that she’s sick and damn glad she didn’t give it to me or my daughter, I’m silently fuming that my plans have fallen through.  I’m fuming, and feeling selfish for being mad that my mother is too miserable to go on a completely leisurely trip.  I’m just plain annoyed, and then self-analyzing what kind of selfish, controlling person feels that way in this situation.  Hence this post.  The end.

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Bump in the Night

image Why Me by rosiehardy via Flickr

Abram left on his business trip to Alabama yesterday and while I always know he’ll be back before I know it, this time I knew it would be different since I’m not out of the house at work (distracted) for 8 hours a day.  The first night always sucks the most.  Getting ready for bed after I lay Charlotte down kind of freaks me out a little when Abram isn’t here.  I go through locking up the house in a much more paranoid way, which is silly when I think about it since Abram isn’t bionic or anything and couldn’t do much more than I could if someone actually really broke in or something.  Of course, he could serve as the distraction for Charlotte and I to escape, but that’s morbid and I hate thinking of it like that…but yes…knowing my husband would sacrifice himself as cannon fodder for whatever crazed ax murderer that breaks in helps me sleep better at night. Sue me.

I shower faster, not liking that I can’t hear any noises out in the house, I make sure the dogs are in the bed with me, and even leave extra random lights on around the house.  Oh, and I swapped out the cheap-o alarm clock with one that has a radio so I could hear someone else alive and talking as I tried to fall asleep.  And the bathroom light stays on, door cracked, you know, so I don’t trip in the middle of the night.  Riiight.

I’m really not this much of a wuss normally.  It’s only since becoming a mom that I’ve gotten more and more cautious.  I can’t tell you how many nights I’ve laid awake, even with Abram next to me, thinking about the fastest escape route from a psycho or what I can easily reach for to use as a weapon in an emergency.  Can you tell I’ve watched too many horror movies?  Typing it out makes it seem more OCD than I realized, but I can’t help it.

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