I Hope It's Gonna Be a Long, Hot Summer

If you live most anywhere in the US, chances are you're feeling the cold. And you're tired of it.  If you have small children, like I do, you are running out of ideas for keeping them busy (and the fighting to a minimum.)

Recently, a friend of mine posted art activity ideas on Facebook. One of these ideas was to make homemade paint.  I am not crafty.  I don't even like art.  (Not true...I like looking at art.) I'll happily color a picture in a coloring book, but you can forget about free hand sketching, painting, or really anything else artsy.  However, my children LOVE art and painting is probably their favorite creative outlet.

You guys, my kids sat at our table and painted for over 1.5 hours.  No fighting.  No whining.  No crying.  Nothing but sweet peace for me and a good time for them.  We have so much leftover that we're painting again tomorrow.  Once again, school has been cancelled.  It's been a cold, cold winter.

Would you like to try homemade paint too?  Here's how you make it.  (It's so easy!)

All you need is sweetened condensed milk and food coloring.  That's it!  You may also want to put some newspaper down on your table.  This stuff is a bit sticky and food coloring may leave a stain.  If you have elementary school aged children, you'll likely have some Scholastic fliers hanging around.  I save ours just for projects like these.

Divide the sweetened condensed milk into whatever cups or bowls you wish to use. I used two cans to fill 11 Dixie cups 1/2 full.  Add food coloring according to the color guide on your package, or make your own combinations.  I halved the amount of drops suggested.  Ex: if it called for 6 blue and 2 yellow, I used 3 blue and 1 yellow.  Mix well with a spoon.  Look at all the wonderful colors I was able to make from 5 small bottles of food coloring!

G3, getting their art on.

 

Today's work.  As you will see, the paint dries super shiny.  This was an incredibly easy way to make my kids happy today.  I hope it goes as well tomorrow.  

That Perfect Girl Is Gone

Thanks to an incredible internet link, the kids and I have been watching (and re-watching) Frozen.  If you haven't seen it, I'll try not to spoil it for you.  I love this movie.  It speaks to me.  The music is wonderful and I cannot get it out of my head.  It's a flipping cartoon, but I think about it all the time.  I wonder what I'm missing.  Every time we watch it, I notice something new.  And AMAZING.

My children love it too.  The boys are mad for Anna and Elsa and spend much of the day pretending to be them.  At any given time, you can hear Jo singing, "do you wanna build a snowman?" or see Jake, blanket thrown over his shoulders, waltzing through the living room, shouting, "I am free!"

Elsa and Anna - Aren't they lovely?

You guys, I'm developing an emotional attachment to this movie.  Anna and Elsa are sisters.  If you've been following my blog, you know I have sister issues.  Elsa is the older sister and heir to the throne.  (Did I mention they're princesses?  Of course they're princesses....it's Disney!)  Anna is the younger sister and is a bit naive about the world and how dangerous her sister is.  Elsa has been cursed with the ability to make snow/ice/wintry weather.  Anna is normal and just wants to play with her sister, but Elsa is too dangerous to play and stays locked in her room. Although they did not spend much time with each other, there is a deep love between them.  The movie highlights the importance of the sister relationship.

Remember when the princess always needed a prince to save her?  I've always thought that was stupid.  Disney has caught on too and corrected it.  Both Brave and Frozen have female heroes.  They save themselves. I love the message this sends to my daughter.  I've yet to watch Frozen without crying.  Buckets.  Damn you, Disney, for making me feel things.

My sibling relationship much different.  For most of it, my sister and I shared a bedroom.  There was a clear division between sides of the room.  My side was neat and orderly.  Her side was a sty. I insisted on being furthest from the door.  I have no idea why.  I always had to wade through her crap to get out of the room.  Perhaps, I thought her mess would flow through to my side of the room if I was closer to the door.  Who knows?

My sister and I had daily access to each other.  While we are not twins, we were in the same grade, often had the same classes and made the same friends.  It wasn't until our junior year, when she went to the vocational school and I stayed at the high school, that we had any real time away from one another.  I wish I could say her absence bothered me, but it didn't.  I was glad she was at another school.  We weren't friends and basically survived by tolerating each other. She was the perfect child.  I was difficult, running wild, longing to be free. I no longer run and that perfect girl is long gone.  Perhaps she was never real to begin with.

We haven't lived together since 1995.  I moved in with my dad that year, after a failed runaway attempt.  It saved me.  I'm close to my dad.  He's been a support source for me throughout my life and a really good man.  He's not my sister's biological father, but he raised her, and continued to do so long after my parents divorced.  He's a grandfather to her child.  He loves my sister just as he loves me, even though she has used and abused him.  He could be free of her, but he chooses to allow her in his life because he loves her.

My mother often says that my problems with my sister are my fault.  She thinks that I'm jealous of her relationship with my dad.  That couldn't be more wrong.  Dad and I have a great relationship.  We've spent a lot of time and energy fostering a friendship.  I harbor no resentment or jealousy of my father's love for my sister, nor do I feel threatened by their relationship.  In fact, I think it's wonderful.  He's a man that was willing to raise another man's child.  He loves her with his whole heart, despite that she's stolen from him, lied to him, and greatly disappointed him. If anything, it makes me treasure him even more.

Unlike Brave, Frozen doesn't reveal much about the princesses relationship with their parents.  The story remains focused on the sisters, their separation, and their journey back to one another.  And that sits heavy on my soul.

I feel guilty for not having a healthy relationship with my sister.  I think we liked each other when we were really little.  I remember always having someone to play games and ride bikes with.  We were once protective of each other.  If one of us was about to get in trouble, we'd hide the paddles...she'd hide the belt (Mom's choice for disciplining me) and I'd hide the wooden spoon (Mom's choice for disciplining her.)  I have a clear memory of tackling a girl who called my sister "fat" and bullied her, daily, on the walk home from school.  She took care of the neighborhood brat that always tried to wreck me when I rode my bike.

I'm not sure when that changed.  Somewhere between elementary school and high school, we stopped protecting each other.  By junior high, even I called her "fat."  She became self absorbed, obsessed with her hair and makeup, and put me down for have simpler tastes.  She called me, "butch" and often made lesbian references/jokes.  We were cruel to one another.

In high school, she was deeply unhappy.  She did not socialize like other kids.  She stayed home, watched TV, read books and ate. She was well over 300 pounds by our graduation.  Then we went away to college.  I went to Muskingum and rarely came home.  She went to Hocking, but didn't go to class or do her assignments, and failed out.  Having no where else to go, she moved into my old room at Dad's house.

While at Dad's, she brought him into the 1990's by convincing him to get cable and internet service.  We used to play online chess with each other through Yahoo Games and chat with Messenger. I loved that!  We became more friendly.  When I got married, she was my maid of honor.  Once, she even sent me $12, all in one dollar bills, with a note that said "Here's a little mad money. I'm sure you can use it."   I used it to fill my gas tank (yes, $12 bought a lot of gas in 1999!) and drove to New Lex to visit her.  We were able to support each other while our mother battled leukemia from 1999 until 2001.

After she had bariatric surgery, I thought we would become friends.  She was more outgoing and willing to do things.  I wasn't prepared for how shallow she became.  Vanity sank deep in her bones and it's still there.  Even now, after heroin and pills have stolen her teeth and caused her to look a decade older, she's incredibly vain.  She's a storm: wrecks everything in her path and moves on to the next victim, careless about the mess she's left behind.

And despite this, despite the pain she's caused, I love her.  There are still days that I just can't believe that my sister, my sister, is a heroin addict.  She's in a rehab facility in Columbus.  It's been relatively easy to block her from my mind.  Until I watched Frozen.  Seeing the love those sisters have for each other makes me so sad.  We should have that.  We should be friends.  But you can't be friends with a heroin addict.  And you can't be friends when you have an anger buried deep inside that you just can't seem to get out.

I'm angry that she's wrecked her life.  I'm angry that she joined her husband in using drugs instead of getting him the help he needed.  I'm angry that she's been giving her daughter away since the day she was born.  I'm angry that she stole my identity and wrecked my credit.  I'm angry that she did the same to my dad, probably my mom, and so many others.  I'm angry that she's in rehab.  I'm angry that people continue to enable her.  I'm angry with her.  I resolved to find a way to forgive her, but I'm struggling with that.

I just can't seem to let it go.

I was so Hard to Please

I wonder what you thought when you read this title.  "Is this another self exploration?  A deep revealing portrait of her murky past?"  Or maybe you think it's a spoof because, in reality, I'm really not difficult to please and am easily impressed.  Unless you're married to me....then yes, I'm hard to please.

Pleasure is directly correlated to expectation.  In truth, I expect very little.  I've had a lot of adversity in my life and have learned to never, never, never rely on things to be given or returned or earned easily. Life's a struggle, right?  Usually, I accept that.  However, even with my cynical nature and full acceptance that most people are total a*holes, and that the worst that can happen will happen, I have found this year, this winter, to be so disappointing. And it's only January 14th.  Despite the glorious sunrises we've had these last few days, I look around at a hazy shade of winter.

This winter was so promising.  I had a sleepover for Mason's 6th birthday at our local Hampton Inn.  She invited 2 friends to come along for swimming, celebration and sleeping.  I had hoped it would be the best night of Mason's life since she has no memory of staying in a hotel before and was so excited about it.  It did not turn out to be all I hoped it would be. One girl chewed a hole in her flotation ring which required all of us to get out of the pool, another fell out of bed which was incredibly frightening, and the room was a bit too small for 3 girls to play in.  An event like this really requires a suite with room to move around.  You may think these glitches are not a big deal, but trust me, to 4-6 year old girls, these things are upsetting.

But with the disappointment, there was also a lot of fun.  The girls made crafts, sang along with a karaoke machine one of her guests gave her, ate lots of junk food, told jokes, jumped from one bed to the other (a million times) and laughed.  Little girl laughter is pretty special.  In case you are wondering, I also learned that little girls are just as gross as little boys.  There was a lot of gas passing and talk about gas passing and giggling about gas passing.  The difference is girls outgrow this and boys NEVER do.

Then Christmas came.  My kids had a wonderful Christmas. It was the first Christmas morning that the boys, now 3 years old, really participated in opening presents.  There was so much laughter. My dad spent Christmas morning with us for the first time since 1999.  That year was sad.  My mom had leukemia and wasn't doing well. The hospital allowed her to come home for a couple days.  I still have pictures from that day, but can't bare to look at them.  She looked so sick and my sister was so healthy.  It's heartbreaking now to remember them both that way. A piece of me still lives in Christmas 1999 and the memory haunts me a bit.

Back to 2013....The kids slept in Christmas morning.  We crawled out of bed around 9am. It was great.  The wrapping paper frenzy began shortly after.  Followed by brunch.  And then everyone left.  My dad returned to his town.  My mother went to visit my sister in rehab.  John left for work.  The kids enjoyed playing with their new toys but asked (about a million times) why they weren't going to their paternal grandparents that day.  The technical answer (the one that gets me off the hook): our car had broken down and John had the van.  I physically couldn't get the kids to their home.  The real answer: I'd rather eat glass than spend one minute with my mother in law.  I spent 14 Christmases with those horrible people.  It wasn't happening this year. Not after the hell the mother in law put me through.  I just didn't have it in me.

Christmas passed and we planned to celebrate New Year's Eve at the First Night celebration in our town.  Music, food, children's programming, fireworks...what could go wrong?!  It was the first year since who-knows-when that John did not have to work New Year's Eve.  I was looking forward to hearing a piano and organ concert and taking the kids to a magic show.  However, around 5:30pm, I became so ill I could barely move.  I was in bed by 6pm.  I listened to the fireworks from my bed and my very first New Year's kiss in years was on the top of my head. It's better than nothing, I suppose,  but I had high expectations.  Lesson learned.

Christmas break was extra long.  A cold spell kept the kids home for a few extra days.  I was very excited for them to go back.  They needed a break from each other and I needed some time for myself.  I can't get anything done when I spend my days stopping fights, finding crafts and other forms of entertainment, and kissing boo boos.   Or that could be an excuse.  It's January 14th and my Christmas tree is still up. Apparently,  I don't get much done when they're back at school either.  (Although, I didn't put the tree up OR decorate it this year so maybe it's not my problem.  Get on it, John.)

Fast forward to January 11th.  I got sick again.  Another stomach virus.  This one hit me hard, made me weak, and left me begging for Spring. AND the icing on my sour, rotten cake:  someone I thought would never upset me is breaking my heart.

So here I am, January 14, 2014 and I can't wait for winter to get the hell over with.  High expectations.  That's what I had.  Next winter, I will expect nothing but doom and gloom and feel quite pleased when it's over.  (As it turns out, this post is a 1011 word pity party.)

Here's some pics to make up for that.

On our way to Wildlights!  

The best pic I could get of the 4 of them at the Columbus Zoo.  I don't know how photographers do it!

John and Drea.  She's so easy to have around.

At the hotel sleepover.  The 3 cutest girls I know.  

Christmas morning:  Ringo got trapped in all the new toys and clothes. 

I bought all 3 kids, even the boys, princess shoes for Christmas.  They love them. This is also the ONLY picture I got with all 3 of them.  How sad.

If you leave the kids alone with Grandma, you will end up with slime on the ceiling.  Does anyone know how to get slime off paint? 

Open Up Your Mouth and Feed It

Warning!  Warning!  Obligatory food post!  I'm trying to become a better blogger.  I read blogs.  Lots of blogs.  One thing they all have in common is, from time to time, each author shares a food post.  How do you become better?  Mimic the experts. Writing about dinner is out of character for me.  However, I probably spend more time focused on food, specifically how to stretch my food dollar to feed this family of 5, than I do any other motherly duty.

Being a survival mom means I do what it takes to get through a day.  It doesn't mean that I cater to every want my children have.  One of my strictest rules is that I will not cook multiple entrees at each meal to satisfy everyone.  I've heard of mothers doing this. What? WHAT?!!! Who has time for that?  Like our sweet technological, everything-at-your-fingertips, society isn't making it nearly impossible to raise a bunch of entitled brats already. Therefore, this mama builds (I like that term.  My dear friend, Celia, uses it.) one meal and my kids know they better eat it. 

My favorite holidays are New Year's Day and St. Patrick's Day.  Maybe I like them so much because my favorite meals are traditionally served on those days.  I love pork and sauerkraut.  Love, love, love.  We had to delay our traditional meal this year because I was ill and needed a few days to handle the smell of it.  Most people bake a pork roast and surround it with sauerkraut (often making the mistake of putting brown sugar in their kraut) and let it roast in the oven or slow cooker for hours.  It's delicious, but when every dollar counts,  a pork roast may not be in the budget.  Here is what I do.

I purchase bone-in pork chop and hope to find a super good deal.  Last week, I purchased a 1.3lb package of chops for $2.86 at Aldi.  I found a large can of sauerkraut for $.98 at our local IGA.  I cut the bones out of the chops and cubed the meat.  In a 3 quart casserole dish, I put the cubed meat in a pile in the middle of the dish.  Next, I chopped one apple and 1/3 of a fresh onion and arranged the pieces around the pork.  After rinsing and draining the sauerkraut, I smothered the entire dish in it.  Finally, I poured a 12 oz. can of light beer, I'd been saving to use for cooking, over the entire entree and covered the dish.  I cooked it in a 400 degree oven for about 2 hours.

Meanwhile, I also peeled, chopped and boiled 1/3 of a 10lb bag of potatoes. We enjoy mashed potatoes with our pork&kraut. I purchased the entire 10lb bag at Aldi for $1.49! I paired the meal with green beans, canned from our garden, and fresh fruit we already had in the fridge.

The total cost of our meal was about $4.34.  It made enough to feed the 5 of us AND have enough left over for John to take pack for lunch at work.  I think $4.34 is beyond awesome.

Shopping smart, by using coupons and taking advantage of Aldi prices, and finding cheaper entree alternatives help me meet our weekly $75 budget (which includes paper products, cat food/litter, and toiletries) and I'm often under it.

Here's a pic of my pork and sauerkraut.  It doesn't look particularly special, but it was so, so delicious. Yes, I draped the background with flannel.  Doesn't this seem like a flannel-esq meal?  It's warm, filling, and down-home comforting just like flannel.

How on Earth Did I Get so Jaded?

You may not realize, but I am a little cynical (and a wee-bit sarcastic.) It's genetic and possibly one of my finer qualities. Jaded, even. Merriam-Webster defines jaded as "1) fatigued by overwork; exhausted  or 2) made dull, apathetic, or cynical by experience."  The Urban Dictionary has 4 pages of various definitions for jaded.

Jaded.  I'm certainly exhausted.  And overworked. Or maybe I'm just overly stressed. If you've been following my blog, then you know the second definition is dead on. Either way, I accept that I'm jaded.

Cynical people rarely make resolutions. We believe no one ever keeps them and are acutely aware of our own limitations.  However, in these last few months, I've experimented with stepping out of my comfort zones, trying new things, allowing myself to be vulnerable and risking failure. I feel anxiety creeping in as a reveal not one, but 12 resolutions. TWELVE!!!  A runaway train.

I, April, a survival mom (with some issues) hereby resolve to:

1.   Read a book, for personal entertainment, every week.
2.   Become more involved in the good works of my church.
3.   Rid my house (or at least one room) of all clutter.
4.   Learn how to sew.
5.   Accept compliments more graciously.  (Seriously, it feels weird to me.)
6.   Give more praise to my children.
7.   Have one-on-one days with each of my kids at least twice in the new year.
8.   Find more happy things to blog about. (Although my dark posts are far better read.)
9.   Remember the person I used to be and try to see the world through her "glass-half-full eyes" again.
10. Learn as much as I can about Common Core, and do so with an open mind.  (Because honestly, I feel like, "What's the point.  It's just going to change in a few years.  And that attitude doesn't lead to jobs.)
11. Wake up every morning and thank God for the blessings I have in my life (even when they've kept me up most of the night.)
12.  Do whatever it takes to forgive my sister. (This may be a 2, 3 or 10 year resolution, but I'm going to try.)

Whew, I have a lot of work ahead of me.  I look forward to sharing 2014 with you.  Happy New Year, readers.  May you be blessed throughout the year.

(Psst...what are your resolutions?)

A Sullen Riot Penetrating Through Her Mind

Facebook and other social media outlets are full of surveys and "things you don't know about me" posts and blah, blah, blah.  I recently completed one about 10 books that affected me in some way.  I'm a reader.  Limiting my list to 10 books was nearly impossible.  It took hours to complete.  I kept changing the books on my list.  I starting thinking about all those other lists I've not filled out.  I'm inspired.  Here it is.  My great reveal.  15 random "me" things.  If you currently have a positive opinion of me, you may not want to read this.  If not, well, you may find more reasons to hate me.

Music saved my life.  I was headed toward a future filled with trouble.  I had no guidance.  My parents were a presence in my life, but were lousy parents.  I didn't know God.  I doubted his existence.  In high school, my friend, Tricia, invited me to attend her church.  I was dying to get away from my mother, even if only for an hour, so I went.  The minister was wonderful.  I enjoyed his messages and appreciated the time he devoted to helping me learn who God is. I gave my daughter the middle name "Grace" because it was his last name.  Although I thought he, his wife, and the congregation were wonderful people, it was the music that kept me going back every week.  Hymns spoke to me.  I found words inside hymnals I couldn't find in myself.  Since then, every good thing in my life has come from this love of music.  I met my husband while singing with the All-Ohio State Fair Youth Choir.  He gave me purpose and 3 beautiful children.  I sing in our church choir and feel called to serve the Lord in that capacity.  My greatest pleasure is the 2-3 hours I spend in Community Choir every Sunday. The commitment is difficult to keep now that I have children, but I can't accept not being a part of it.  Music. Saved. Me.

I'm a reformed neat freak. I have obsessive compulsive disorder.  I was a constant organizer.  I kept my compact discs in alphabetical order. I organized my bookshelves by genre and authors' last names.  I had 3 closets in my bedroom.  One was for shirts and dresses, one for pants and jeans, and the other for coats, shoes and miscellaneous.  Inside my shirt closet, I organized the shirts by type: short sleeve, long sleeve, dressy.  And then by color.  I did this with every closet and nearly everything I owned.  Since having children, I have completely abandoned the need for organization. However, ocd is still present.  It manifests as a germ phobia.  I can't touch restaurant menus or condiment bottles. I won't eat ANYTHING a child has made. But, hey, my house is a cluttered shit-hole and I can live with that.

I really dislike weird-ass names people choose for their children.  I understand the desire to be unique. I named my DAUGHTER "Mason" which likely guarantees no other girl in her school will have the same name, but it is normal enough to easily pronounce and find on kid things.  Kids love having their names on shit. Pencils, cups, you-name-it.  We can still provide those for her.  I roll my eyes and think, "your parents are morons" when I see twins named "Heaven" and "Nevaeh."  I detest the creation of new names by putting together letters from each of the parents' names. John and I could have done that.  "Joap" could have really caught on, but we chose not to because it's STUPID.

I find it hard to identify my sexuality.  I don't consider myself straight.  I'm not straight, but I'm not gay, bisexual or asexual either.  When you love someone, when you get lucky enough to have that "magic" moment where you realize you can't live without that person, it doesn't matter what sex s/he happens to be.  I truly believe, had John been a girl, I would have fallen head over heals for her.  He was the most amazing, loving, kind person I had ever encountered.  I feel extremely lucky that he was a boy and we were able to share our love without adversity. (Side note:  I'm not exactly sure what happened to that amazing, loving, kind person.  He's been replaced with someone much grumpier.)

I'm still learning how to love.  Children are not born knowing how to love.  Love is NOT human nature.  We are a ruthless, wild breed capable of extreme selfishness.  I was not taught how to love others.  My father was loving toward us, but he was also very needy.  He craved attention and approval.  My mother grew up with an abusive father and psycho-bitch stepmother.  She had no idea how to love anyone, not even herself. She "loved" me by controlling me and treated me like property.  I find teaching love, empathy and respect to be the most difficult parental duty I have.  I am not equipped with the skills necessary for teaching them, but I'm trying.

I was 28 years old before I realized only my opinion matters.  My father taught me to desire acceptance and praise.  My mother, sure as Hell, never gave either to me.  I began to look for it in other people.  I was a model student in school.  I tried to get perfect grades just to see a "well done" written on the top of my paper.  I followed the advice of my teachers without ever thinking about whether it was right for me.  I became sexually active at a young age. I craved approval. This need cost me 3 years of my life in law school and a student loan debt I will spend nearly an eternity paying back.  It wasn't until I became a mother that I let go of caring about what others thought and started to value my own opinions for my future.  I followed my heart and became a teacher....the career I always wanted but pushed away because an adviser thought I was more suited to be a lawyer.  I was never meant to be a lawyer.

I once dearly loved my mother-in-law;  now, just the thought of her makes my blood boil.  When I met John, I thought he was so lucky to have a mom like her.  She was so nice to him, which was completely foreign to me.  She really made me feel welcomed in their home.  All of John's friends loved her.  After we married and moved away, everything changed.  She has hurt me more than anyone ever has..which I never thought was possible.  And I hate her.  I hate her.   I'm not proud of that, but it's where my heart is.  I'm working toward indifference.

I have never successfully lost more than 40 pounds....I'm very good at regaining weight. Perhaps that's my superpower. Following our parents' divorce, my sister and I gained tons of weight.  I was a fat kid and now a fat adult.  I have dieted, exercised, taken diet pills, joined Curves, joined Weight Watchers and fallen for every televised weight loss program there is.  Sure, things go well at first and I lose weight.  I usually lose around 40 pounds and then plateau.  After months at the same weight, I get discouraged and quit...and regain all I lost plus more.  I'm the heaviest I've ever been as an adult.  This will change in 2014.  I'll blog about that when the time is right.

I am the most perceptive person I know.  I read people.  When friends of ours were having an affair, I knew it before they were caught.  I warned them how ugly their lives were about to become.  I have countless examples of knowing what is happening without being told.  Body language says so much.  And now, with the digital age, I think people are even easier to read.  We're losing the ability to communicate face to face which is having a positive effect on aptitude to lie.  People just aren't as good as it as they once were.

I enjoy other people's drama.  I even have a Facebook friend that I'm not close to and don't really care for, but I keep her because she periodically posts long rants.  There is no soapbox too big for her jump on.  I LOVE THAT! While it's ridiculously annoying, it's equally entertaining.

All my life, I have wished to be more like my cousin, Chad.  As a child, I thought he was freaking amazing. He is still ultra-cool, plays the guitar, sings well and has a the best set of friends a person could wish for. I recently learned that he reads my blog.  He called one of my posts, "good writing."  Oh my.  There is NOT a word in existence that describes what that means to me.

My blog post titles are lyrics from songs I really like.  Some of them have meaning to me.  Some are guilty pleasures. Some, like this , feel almost like they were written for me.

There is a rage inside me that sometimes frightens me.  I harbor anger.  I need time and space to cool off when I've hit my limit.  If at home, I will retreat to my bed for an hour or two.  I'm not violent, but if you piss me off you better be prepared for a pure, unadulterated bitchathon. John's grandma once said that she took everything that upset her to the Lord.  She never discussed it with others or made it public.  She gave it to Him.  That's classy, right.  I sometimes wish I was capable of that, but if I was what the Hell would I blog about?

I love being a substitute teacher.  Seriously, it's a great gig.  I choose when I work.  If my kids are sick, I can stay home.  It's the perfect job for a SAHM returning to the work force. Unfortunately, it doesn't put even a slight dent in that student loan debt I reference above.  Substitute teachers are paid less for a day's work than grill cooks at McD's. If the pay was better, I would sub forever!

I have no idea where I will take this blog.  I started it hoping to use it to show the world how I, a mother of 3 small children, managed to keep it together with little support at home.  It's become something far different.  I use it like therapy.  It's a place where I can put everything that consumes me: a home for those overwhelming feelings I don't have compartments for. Love, rage, sadness, anger, happiness...I leave them all here.  I love that people read my words, but I don't write for an audience.  My blog is a purely self-centered mode of release.  I use it to void myself of things that bring me anxiety.

Wow.  It's nearly 3am as I finish this. I'm a little surprised at the time and thought I put into it.  That wasn't my intention.  It feels good, though. Somehow, once again, I have purged myself of emotion I can't bare to keep. I feel renewed. And tired.

But Maybe I'm Crazy....Probably

My disdain for Time Warner is fairly well known.  There's a planet in my mind where all of Time Warner is housed.  It's wrapped tight with dynamite and I hold the detonator.  It's a beautiful image. I see me standing at the detonator box waiting for the perfect time to push it down and blow that planet straight to Hell.  It all started with a mistaken disconnection that took an entire week to resolve.  Somewhere, in Time Warner's digital recorders, there are telephone conversations evidencing the rage that will keep me from ever running for public office.  When the a-holes tried to raise my rate this year, I called and demanded my old rate. When the CSR lied to me about the best possible rate, I demanded a lower rate.  With each, "I'm sorry ma'am, I can't do that," I requested to speak with someone who could.  This went on for nearly two hours.  But at the end of the marathon, I'm now paying the introductory price offered to new customers. I was THAT persistent.  Crazy?  Possibly.

I wish I could say my anger stops at Time Warner.  It doesn't.  In fact, I harbor feelings of negativity toward all utilities. I'll put it out there.  I'm not ashamed.  I'M CHEAP.  I hate to pay outrageous fees for things that should, in my opinion, cost far less than they do.  I am not loyal to any one company or brand.  If you offer me the same or similar service at a lesser price, I will drag my happy ass up and contract with another company. I have even (unsuccessfully) tried to negotiate gas and electric prices.

Usually, it is worth it.  We recently dropped Verizon and switched to Straight Talk.  Our Verizon bill was $130/month for 2 lines...shared 700 minutes, unlimited texting and NO DATA.  Rip off?  You bet it was.  With Straight Talk, we have smart phones and pay $90 per month for unlimited everything.  John and I love our new phones.  Who knew having Pandora on your phone would be so awesome? (All of you with smart phones knew, right?)

I dropped cable and purchased Netflix, Hulu and Amazon Prime.  We were paying $130/month to Time Warner for Digital Cable and internet.  We now pay less than $40/month for internet and   $236.42 per YEAR for television.  Amazon gave me a 50% discount on Prime.  Yay!  Our total savings is over $80/month.

Our most recent switch is car and homeowner insurance.  The switch from State Farm to Farmers is saving us more than $500 per year.  After a 14 year relationship with State Farm, wherein we had few claims, we grew tired of being gouged monthly for little service in return. (This is the part where I tell you how disgusted I am with our old agent.)

What does it take to sell insurance?  Sure, it requires a test and a licensure and all the responsibility that comes with it.  But it doesn't really require hard work.  So, what do agents do with YOUR hard earned money?  Our previous agent doesn't do anything that I am aware of.  He isn't available early morning or evening.  Forget weekends.  His office completely closes from Noon until 1pm for lunch, even though he has an employee and they could easily alternate lunches to remain open.  If the weather is nice, you'll find him on the golf course.  Hell, he literally lives on the golf course.  His secretary fields all phone calls, and, based on my observations, runs the business. Every change we've ever made happened through her.  Fourteen years of service and I'm sure the "agent" hasn't put in 1 total hour of work for us.  I LOOOOAAAATHHHHE his secretary.  It makes me grumpy to even think of calling their office because I know I will have to talk to her.  However, she deserves some credit because, in my opinion, she's the only one working for his State Farm customers.

I recently spoke with the State Farm agent about life insurance.  We reevaluated our needs and John cancelled a small whole-life policy.  I'm educated and aware of a cash value for the policy. When the policy was cancelled, our State Farm agent did not have the decency to make John aware of the cash value, counsel him regarding it, or send him a check.  Months after it cancelled, I called asking where the money was.  He put me off, told me I was making a mistake, and made every attempt to persuade me to reinstate the policy. Why?  I told him repeatedly that we wanted the money.  I specifically said that I wasn't calling for advice, I just wanted to know where the money was.  He evaded my questions until he could stall no longer and then, with irritation, said, "Yeah.  There's about a thousand there."  Why did he give me the runaround?  Because he earns a commission off our money.  State Farm is not only an insurance company, it's a bank.  As our agent, he was a fiduciary for our money and he purposefully neglected that duty.  After that conversation, I knew it was time to move to another company.

So, I called Farmers.  We were offered more discounts than I expected.  The agents provided us with multiple packages and rates.  They really tried to help us decide our needs. Their advice was excellent and the best part:  THEY MET WITH ME ON SUNDAYS.  Sunday!!! Our old State Farm agent probably hasn't worked on Sunday in 30 years. But my husband, the man who paid the bill the last 14 years, works twice as many Sundays per year than he gets off.

Perhaps I am a little difficult to please.  A bit demanding at times.  Ok, I'm a pain in the ass. I know it.  But there is something incredibly wrong with our class structure.  I point out our insurance agent because he's local and easy to bitch about. I can make presumptions of what he does with his time based on what I've personally witnessed. And, compared to large corporations, the insurance man is small change. The bigger problem happens everywhere.  The guy who physically works the hardest enjoys the least time off and the least pay.  Meanwhile, his check is sliced thin to pay for service from someone else who does very little in comparison.  It's not right.

I'm not saying John doesn't earn enough.  I cannot complain about his pay.  His wage is decent and the benefits are incredibly generous. However, he sacrifices so much time with us just to keep us out of the poor house.  You won't find him on the golf course.  He doesn't get to close up shop halfway through the day for an hour.  He doesn't have 9am to Noon and 1pm to 4pm hours.  He works 8-16 hours per day, alternating afternoon shift with midnight shift, 6 days a week. Every week.  Every holiday.  Every birthday.  Every anniversary.  I can't tell you the last time I kissed him on New Year's Eve.  The only hobby he has is reading, because he can do that on his down time at work.  He no longer hunts, shoots pool, or spends time with his friends. He works harder than anyone I know.  Yet he doesn't live the life our old insurance agent does.  He has never experienced the luxury the CEOs of Time Warner or AEP or Columbia Gas consider normal.  And he never will.

Don't think I feel company heads don't deserve high pay.  I know they handle a lot of pressure and responsibility.  But every single employee beneath them works harder.  For less pay.  All the time.  As I write this, I'm sure you are confused about what I'm feeling.  This isn't an argument for greater pay for John and other workers.  It's a call for fairness.  Dear Cable, Internet, Phone, Electric, Gas, and Insurance provider: CHARGE LESS. Lower your rates.  Don't lower pay for your average employees.  Don't squeeze their benefits.  Cut the salaries of those earning the top 10% of your payroll (including you, CEO) and allow your customers to receive the benefit.  Rates always go up.  How about, for once in our lives, you lower your rates? Try it.

Life is expensive.  Children are expensive.  I've cut out almost every unnecessary thing that I can.  I'm doing all the right things, yet it feels like I'm on a treadmill. Cutting, cutting, cutting. Saving, saving, saving. Not getting anywhere.

Do you understand?  Do you feel a pinch that hurts just a bit too much? How do you stay afloat?