My Battle Against Stress!

Meredith Viera had a 2 minute interview this morning on the Today show that has been in my brain all day.



So we as women are taking this economic situation, plus our family stuff, plus our jobs, plus our children's behavior, plus our attempts to please others and we are doing ourselves in! I have read so many blogs, personal messages, and notes in the last 48 hours from friends and complete strangers that demonstrate this to me.

You may (or maybe not) know that I am blogging over at the BlubHer Overhaul. I have seen so many ladies struggling with stress eating or lack of motivation for working out or just being sick. And now I'm wondering how much of it is linked.

I have friends who have said to me on numerous occasions, "I just can't beat these blahs!" And I wonder if they really mean "I just can't beat this stress."

So of course having had all day and 2 loads of laundry (and the motivation of my own stresses) to ponder this, I started to ask myself "So what do we do to battle it?" Exercise? Eat right? Meditate? Pray? All very valid solutions I told myself. But I want more.

What can I do to help other women battle back against stress? Is it just a matter of leaving a comment on every blog I visit? Is it sending a random e-mail to tell someone I care? Is it praying for other people that I see hurting? But I still want more!

You may or may not have seen Copacabana last week -here's hoping you missed it! But that is what I want to do! I want to start a "Pay it Forward" style campaign. I want women to reach out to other women and make them smile. Even if it's only for a little minute, enough of those minutes from enough other people will make a difference.

I have seen so many references to medications, depression, and stress that I wonder if the tide can be turned. I am an optimist. I believe that it can be. But people have to look outside of their own meditation, exercise, dieting, and prayer and try to help other people. I come back to the gas situation I faced last week. I have no idea what effect if any my half a tank left behind had, but I have to believe it helped someone.

Help me. It's not an official campaign. I don't have a happy blog button for anyone to carry around. It's just what is right. So if you see someone today who needs a smile, tell them a quick joke or just smile at them. You may just save their life.

I Want to Meet the Woman...

Who has the guts to do this. Over at MomDot Trisha put up a post for Fox News. Check it out here. Apparently they are trying to do a special on Super Moms.

Now I know over at the Zoo I did a post about how we are all Super Mom but we all know that that was completely facetious. But just the same.

I know that there are women who try to be a real live Super Mom. They make sure their children are dressed to the nines for everything from playdough to family portraits. Their homes are spotless all the time (just in case someone should stop by) and there is always a treat of some kind freshly baked or baking. They may even be able to do all that and still balance a full time job. Their hubbys are thrilled to trot them out at company functions because they are always guaranteed to be witty, charming, polished and all around delightful. These are the moms whose minivans are always stocked with spare clothes, snack, juice and never have even a crumb on the floor much less a fingerprint on the windows.

But go ahead and ask them about it. Ask them if they think they are Super Mom. Even if they really do they are not about to admit it! We are women before we are mothers. And as women, we have a confidence problem. If we admit that we are Super Mom then someone is going to start watching our every move just waiting for us to mess up. The thought of failing as a self proclaimed Super Mom makes us swear off of PTA meetings for the rest of our child's career at the current school. If we admit we are Super Mom we will be branded as the egotistical too good for the rest of the playgroup mom who suddenly stops getting the invites or is sent incorrect times.

I want to meet the woman who admits that she is Super Mom and does it with such confidence that we all agree. I want to meet the woman who claims the title and then manages to live up to it. She really would be among the people I claim as superheroes in my life.

Now if you won't be too offended, my cape and I have to go wax the van.

The Playroom from the Nether Regions.

My office (ok, so it's my desk) sits right next to the playroom. I hate it - the playroom I mean. I am kind of fond of my desk. The chair is really comfy. And it spins. What was I saying?

Oh yeah! The playroom. I hate it. It will not stay tidy. I know it will never be "clean." It IS a playroom after all. But does it have to look like Kansas in the summer all the time? I would just like to be able to see the Emerald City carpet for more than minutes at a time.

Ok, so I am not the most disciplined about making sure the kids put away the toys when they are done. And I should probably stop letting them bring snacks down if I would like to stop stepping in questionable stuff. The funky smell would probably diminish if I would make sure the sippy cups got back upstairs at the end of the day.

But I guess the part that bothers me most is when we clean up. I end up doing the lion's share of the work. The whining that goes with the cleaning is enough to make me want to throw everything out and tell them to stare at the walls. And I forget that five and three year olds have yet to figure out logic. So when I say, "I didn't play with them - I shouldn't be cleaning them up" it pretty much qualifies as wasted breath.

Beloved reminded me that once upon a time (when we first moved in three short years ago) this was OUR den. Our place to hang out after the kids went to bed. Soft lighting, over stuffed couch, a little entertainment center with TV and DVD. A haven if you will.

Now the flourescents are on all day every day glaring at me from above like I am a burger on a warmer. The couch has been chewed up, juiced up, and recovered twice. The entertainment center has become combination entertainment center, toy chest and art board. No more haven. Just a playroom.

But it keeps them happy and I can referee the wrestling matches from my comfy spinning chair. I guess I can make the sacrifice to the Playroom gods.

It's Called a What?

Oh, that's right! It's called a dish - WASHER! Silly me!

Now I am not one to lose my mind and rip off a good vent unless someone has pushed me. Well, guess what? That's a hand print in the middle of my back!

After church yesterday I made a dash out to the grocery store with the girls so that I would be able to combine trips. (By the way, don't come to GA if you are looking for gas. We don't have it! Another day for that one.) I called home to see if Beloved wanted something special for lunch while I was out and got the following lecture.

B: No. I'm fine. And that was the end of the call. But no sooner did I put my phone back in my purse than it was ringing again.

B: Can you do something for me?

Me: Oh, you decided what you want?

B: No. I don't want anything. But will you please wash the dishes before you put them in the dishwasher? I'm cleaning up the kitchen (wait for me to pick myself up off the floor) and there are dishes in here with little bits of food all over them.

Me: Are you kidding me? This rhetorical question asked so incredulously was answered with a three minute lecture about how it's hard on the dishwasher to have to clean food off of dishes and how our dishwasher (which is run a minimum of twice a day) is going to start drawing bugs.

The lecture would have lasted longer but I oh so politely excused myself from the conversation (ok, so I hung up on him!) and went about my shopping. Now this has had time to simmer in me and it's getting a little like a bad pot of chili. I keep getting hotter and hotter.

It is called a dish-washer. I put dish detergent in it. The argument is that it only serves to sanitize the dishes. Then why is NO ONE using actual soap and scrubbing on the dishes before they go in? Why am I not buying a sanitizing rinse to put in there instead?

I rinse the dishes before they go in so they are food free. Sure there are specks of ketchup left behind sometimes but it's a dish WASHER! And maybe I would be able to shake it off, but my darling Beloved has found a way to effectively restrain his cleaning urges. Yes, I have said the phrase "lift your feet" to him when vacuuming. So now he suddenly can tell me that I am going about things the wrong way?

Has he avoided eating off of dishes I have loaded in the dishWASHER my way? Nope!

Has he come down with some flesh eating virus he ingested from my dishes? Not yet!

Has the exterminator moved into the playroom? Absolutely not!

So what is the major malfunction? After lunch today I intentionally put a peanut butter covered bowl in the "dish sanitizer" just to get his goat when he gets home from work tonight. Tomorrow it's going to be a plate slathered in mustard and egg stuff. That'll teach him!

I hate thinking!

It really sends me into a tailspin most times. Today's Thought from the Toilet Bowl.

What would my hubby do if something happened to me? And I wasn't even thinking big "something;" I was just thinking broken arm or leg "something."

He was home today. I tidied pretty much the whole house before he even got out of bed. That's kitchen, livingroom, 2 bathrooms, nursery and kids' room. I was on my way to the playroom when he poured his first cup of coffee and was done vacuuming and had started shampooing the carpet by the time he got out of the shower. 2 loads of laundry had been washed and all the children were fed, breakfast cleaned up and beds all made.

It was at this point that he asked what he could do to help. Really? You are offering to help? Wow!! I suggested that maybe he could get a rag and clean up the funk on the armchair and the chaise. Nah, I don't really know how to do that. Well, you could fold the laundry that is all over our bed. His look said, "Maybe in my next life when I come back as you."

So he went to the computer and started to read the news. Now don't get me wrong. I love my hubby and he works very hard for his home and his family. I wouldn't even dream of doing his job. My point is that he hasn't paid the first bill since 2003. He hasn't had all 3 children by himself for more than 3 hours without one of them napping. He hasn't done housework in the last 5 years and only did laundry while I was on vacation at my parents' because he ran out of boxers and t-shirts.

Now the problem here is that I blame myself. I am a workaholic and as such when I stopped working outside the home 16 months ago I had too much time on my hands. Therefore it was no problem to juggle everything and play little June Cleaver. But should anything even minor happen to me what would he do? Would he be able to manage getting everyone up and moving? Would he be able to juggle packing lunches and making dinner and changing diapers while taking out the trash and dressing a doll baby?

Or would I, workaholic that I am, figure out how to rig a garbage bag so that I could still wash the dishes, bathe the children and mop the kitchen floor without getting a cast wet? Would I type one handed to get all the bills paid? Would I rig up some elaborate system to get the laundry from point A to washer, dryer and done?

I guess the end question isn't "What would he do?" It's more "Would he HAVE to do anything?"

And that is your Thought from the Toilet Bowl.