One: When I said the other day that I was wrong about my mother in law coming to stay, I think it came across as me saying that I was wrong or something.  Oh, rest assured, friends, I wasn’t wrong at all.  Someone has just been on very super good behavior and someone else has just been quietly accommodating.  All those years of being a hostess are paying off bigtime this week.  But believe you me, she’s getting her jabs in.  I think she’s also, at the same time, kind of realizing that maybe I’m not the useless bag of poo that she’s always thought me to be, and that maybe my marriage to her son isn’t a total farce.

Either way, I gave her my cold, so ha.

Two: When I said that my poor baby boy has asthma, that didn’t in any way mean that he couldn’t come in 20 places higher in his first cross country meet than he did all season last year.  Because he totally kicks ass, that’s why.

Three: In case you were confused, (Matt), that last post wasn’t about walking….at all.  Maybe you should watch this.

Maybe I lost in a big way, but look at those faces, man.

Those are some content looking people. And it hasn’t all sucked for me, either.

A date. Just the two of us. In the middle of the night. With no curfew.

Maybe she just wants more grandchildren, I don’t know. I’ll take it, though.

See all of Lotus’ Weekly Winners right here.

“Alice laughed. ‘There’s no use trying,’ she said. ‘One can’t believe impossible things.’ ‘I daresay you haven’t had much practice,’ said the Queen. ‘When I was your age, I always did it half an hour a day. Why, sometimes, I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.’ “

I am not a woman of faith. I do not believe in almost anything, and I dare say this is my greatest character flaw. But of all the things I do not believe in, and the list is long, the one thing concept that I have rejected above all others is, apparently, myself.

I live in a state of almost constant dread, and I have for as long as I can remember. I am not afraid of Armageddon, not bothered by the idea of global-thermo-nuclear-warfare, and am even nonchalant when it comes to the baggage retrieval system they’ve got at Heathrow.* What gets me is whether or not something’s stuck in my teeth, or if my panty line is showing, or that’s I’ll open my mouth and the wrong thing will come flying out, as it is so apt to do. I am self-conscious to a large, San Andreas sort of fault.

The problem with that is that I have allowed this to more or less stop my life. I have never considered myself worth all that much. I am overly apologetic for nonsensical things. I am completely incapable of asking for help, not because I am too proud, but because I am certain that I am an inconvenience to all those around me. I do not aspire, in general, because I know I will fail.

Knowing that almost solidifies the fact that I will. Prophecies tend to self-fulfill, you know?

I have no misconceptions of being alone in this; I think most us tend to resign ourselves to some fate at some point in our lives. We work jobs that we don’t love because we feel that we have to. We stay in relationships we shouldn’t because we feel obligated to. We live beyond our means on other people’s dreams because we think that’s succeeding**. We do what’s easy, because it’s possible.

I never went to college because I didn’t deserve it. I had already blown an amazing education and was therefore doomed to serve drunk people drinks in dark bars. I never tried to get an awesome job, or forge a career path, because I have no marketable skill, and am useless to most employers. I have accepted what has been handed to me and made the best of it and have called that things like Brave and Daring.

It is not Brave, it is not Daring. It is totally cowardly chicken shit.

There is a point where we have to come to terms with the status quo. I stay at home with my three children, I live in a foreign country (it’s really not all that foreign, and the money is cooler here) and my husband works 8 bazillion hours a week. I don’t really want to live where I live, am pretty sure I’m not cut out for the Homemaker gig, and would like to remember what my husband looks like some time this decade. These things are just non-negotiables in my life, though. They are THE WAY THINGS ARE. This is the sacrifice I make for my family.

If you bought that line, I have some lovely beach front property in Denver I’d like to show you.

There is no reason that I don’t get up off my ass, enroll in school, get a job, hire a sitter and go sit in my husband’s bar one night, or move. Not one good reason, except that I am scared shitless to do any of the above. I am afraid to put myself out there. I am afraid to fail, and so I don’t try.

I rationalize this away as, ‘Oh, we can’t afford another student loan payment’ or ‘I’d have to put the kids in daycare and any income I made would just go to that’ or ‘I have all this ironing to do on a Saturday night’. Whatever. I know it’s bullshit, but I let myself get all martyr-y about it, because it makes me feel better about the whole situation. The one thing I know I’m excellent at is dying for a cause. Jesus ain’t got nothing on me, yo.

Which leads me to my point.

I don’t think I believe in the status quo anymore. I don’t think that we have to be limited, by almost anything, if we really want something badly enough. I think that with a little courage, we can all shake our shit up and make something happen. Whether it’s downsizing your life to make the life you want achievable, or it’s moving into your parent’s basement for a while to give yourself time to sort yourself, whether it’s going to stand in front a crowd of a thousand women in San Francisco and talk, something will give in that.

I am 33 years old and aside from cranking out a few kids, I have done nothing with my life thus-far. Sure, I am raising some fine children, but I lost myself in the mix. The one interesting thing I have done is right here, and I have spent the better part of 4 years convincing myself that it’s some silly little hobby of mine, that it doesn’t matter.

Maybe it doesn’t, but maybe it does.

Fall has neatly landed in my lap.  Lattes are suddenly appropriate afternoon delights.  Pumpkin pies are crying out to be cooked, and NaNoWriMo is coming.  I am going to write The Book, goddammit.  It’s right *here* on the tip of my tongue, and I think it’s time.

Now, what the hell do I write a book about?

*The first person that correctly identifies that gets moved to the top of the blogroll. Not much of a prize, I know, but still.

**Or that one.

The glass is half empty: Today is the last day before the anti-christ my darling mother-in-law descends upon my happy home.  Which means, of course, that today is the last day I get to spend any time whatsoever on the internet until October 4th, because honestly?  I spend too much time on the internet, and I can only imagine the *sighs* and the *eye-rolls* and there is no way in hell I’m giving that woman any more ‘She’s A Shitty Mom’ ammunition, so the ol’ laptop is getting buried under my pillow for the next few weeks, and maybe you’ll see me popping around the internetowebosphere while I’m “sleeping.”  Because god knows there will be no heavier action than that going on in my bed for a while.

I will be forced for the next few weeks to wash dishes after every meal, to do at least one load of laundry every day, to sweep and vacuum daily, to dust for Christ’s sake, because if I don’t do it, she will.  And I cannot handle anyone at all cleaning my shit.  It wigs me the fuck out.  And she’ll totally try to clean my house, just to prove that she’s better than me.  That I need her.  That she can take care of these people better than I can.  (Which is probably true. Bygones.)  I will also be forced to find all sorts of activities to keep her, and me by proxy, busy enough that I don’t start talking.  Because when I get nervous, I fill the empty spaces by talking.  And talking.  And talking.  Myself, right into holes.  It could get ugly.

The glass is half full: I have a great big list of touristy things to do with my mother in law to keep her from drilling me for information she can later use against me so that she will have an amazing time and go home fulfilled and happy and ready to begin her golden years.  I purposely signed 3of3 up for one day of preschool and one day of mom & me dance class so that gramma could take her.  The boys school has a free, drop-in literacy mom & me class that gramma can take her to, to bond, you know?  All of this gives me time to get some laundry done and mop the floors and sneak cigarettes.

I’m hoping that by the time she leaves, I’ll be on a decent cleaning-my-house schedule, which I really desperately need.  I’m hoping I can talk her into teaching me how to sew, and maybe I can start in on the projects I have stuck in my head.  I’m hoping that 3of3 will fall head over heels in love with her, just like my boys already are.  I’m hoping that this visit is everything my boys dream it will be, because they’ve got some high expectations.  I’m hoping that The Donor and I actually get our shit together enough while she’s here to get the hell out of this house for a weekend and go celebrate our 10th anniversary with a hotel room, quiet morning coffee, and swanky little dinners by candlelight.

Or, you know, I’ll just go absolutely bat-shit crazy, and start talking in only run on sentences and referring to myself in the third person and eating nothing that isn’t Fuchsia and then can you just imagine how much fun this blog will be?  Win - Win.

Ah, yes, the Sunday night hot date with LatteMommy.  Glorious.  A few snafus, though:

• We failed in every way to hit a Starbucks, which is odd because A) we were out way past our bedtime and all yawny by 8:30 and B) um, she calls herself LatteMommy.  I expected some truth in advertising, woman.
• You know those people who make random u-turns in the middle of the road where they really shouldn’t?  Like, say, right before a huge, blind turn?  Or right at the on-ramp to the freeway when there’s a line of 8 million cars waiting to get onto said freeway, but that person is clearly too good to get on it?  Or right in the middle of a long, straight, busy street, as if they want everyone else around them to suddenly test the quality and performance ability of their brakes?  Don’t you hate those people?  So do I, especially when that person is me.  Sorry I almost killed you 5 times, LatteMommy.
• We spent an hour in Target, and I failed to leave with Ketchup.  Hell, we spent  hours in America and I failed to leave with ketchup.  I NEED AMERICAN KETCHUP.
• I also forgot to buy cheap America gasoline and cheap American cigarettes.  *sigh*
• No cavities of any kind were searched.  *double sigh*
• Amniotic fluid in the mouth is just gross, but makes for really good stories later.
• Someone who shall remain nameless had to spend at least 5 of our quality drinking-cocktails-minutes on the phone with someone else who shall remain nameless explaining to him the fine art of, I kid you not, boiling water.  Which, honestly, should go in the highlight column and not the snafoo column.  Bygones.

Other thoughts on the movie, since, yeah, the tickets were comped thanks to Dove.

• Meg Ryan’s plastic surgeon is clearly the leading authority and go-to guy if you want to have Michael Jackson’s nose and The Joker’s upper lip.
• Sometimes you can go see a movie like, say, The Women, and even though the storyline isn’t what I’d call fluid, even though the characters aren’t exactly developed, even though the movie is chocked full of cliches and stereotypes, you can still walk away from it and think, “Heck, that was pretty alright” because you get what they were trying to do.  You appreciate the points they wanted to make about body image and about women being empowered.
• Debra Messing is the funniest woman alive.  Just sayin’.  She totally saved it in the end for me.

Updated to add: Skip the movie, watch this instead: