Quite a few years back I had eliminated almost all of my female friends and was mostly hanging out with some guys from a rival high school. We became pretty close and it is safe to say they rubbed off on me. They got me into Southpark, and camping at the lake, and other random things. One of the really funny things they would do is just announce randomly they had to poop. Then, you know, go poop.

So. One day Lisa and I are driving to Burlington Coat factory. We are just driving down the road and I look over at her and decide to try out my new line.

“Man, I’ve got to take a dump.” I say with a huge grin.

Lisa totally freezes and then says, “um, uh, okay.”

I realize immediately that girls are totally not supposed to act like boys. I try and cover my tracks and be like dude sorry the boys say it all the time I just thought it was a funny ice breaker. She wasn’t having it. She was in a total state of shock. And I don’t know who was more embarrassed me for saying it or her for having to hear it.

But it got worse. Because while I didn’t in fact have to poop I did have to pee, but I don’t think Lisa believed that. So we get to Burlington and I set of to go pee in the fastest possible time so she knows I only peed that I wasn’t in fact dumping. However. Burlington apparantly has a ton of people take products into the bathroom and steal them. So they had some kind of system going where you had to push a button and then look at the camera, show them your hands and they would let you in. Only I don’t see the button. I just see two printed signs with a hand on the doors. I’m thinking, okay push here. So I push. I push and push and push and turn around and shove it with my butt. I REALLY HAVE TO PEE. So I’m also kind of pacing and crossing my legs as I push and push and push. So I walk over the the boys bathroom and push. Nothing. I knock, nothing. I stand there looking around like an idiot. I am not kidding when I say this took me at least 3 minutes. Finally I look up between the two doors and see a tiny red button that says push with a sign about the cameras. I push the button and now realize, these people have probably been watching me this whole time laughing. I get in, do my business and get out.

The whole thing from start to finish probably takes 5 minutes.

No matter what I said, I don’t think Lisa ever believed that I wasn’t in there pooping for 5 minutes. But I did learn, that girls should never ever ever try and act cool like boys and shout out, “I have to take a dump.”

So tell me, have you ever said something totally ridiculous like this and if so what?

Have I ever told you that I don’t like fried eggs. Well I don’t. And I don’t eat meat. So this means I don’t like most breakfast foods. And right now you’re thinking, “well doesn’t she like french toast?” And I do, or well, I did. But now, no. Know why? Because it is covered in FRIED EGGS! I bet right now you are all thinking, “now she’s done gone really crazy”, and you would be right.

I think I made one to many trips to IHOP where they don’t give a shit about your food and had one to many french toasts with thick pieces of fried egg dangling off the side.

It’s sad too if you think about it. French toast used to be my favorite, BUT ONLY when my grammie cooked it. She always kept special boysenberry syrup for me too, and heated it the good way, you know putting the jar in a pot of boiling water. I could eat pounds of her french toast. Looking back I’m sure she made it because I liked it, but probably mostly because it was cheap.

The point of this is, if you take me out to eat, and I have the choice between breakfast and lunch I always pick lunch. If you take me somewhere that serves both, chances are you will all be eating eggs as I slather my french fries in some ranch. I think this bothers a lot of people. Really. I actually have noticed people become uncomfortable when I order a veggie sammich as opposed to some rotten fried eggs and bacon. This whole situation poses another big problem. As much as I hate eggs and most other breakfast things, I love toast and hashbrowns. This leaves me always wanting to order a sammich with a side of toast and fried potatoes. Can I just tell you how much that is frowned upon. Scuse me waitress can you just bring me a plate of carbs with a side of fried carbs and a vat of ranch to drown it in, really doesn’t sound as classy as I would like it to.

My second point is that my most favorite breakfast is chips and some kind of dip. For years it was salsa and cream cheese, currently it’s canned nacho cheese. It took YEARS before I let my husband know I did this. I would do the obligatory, toast and hash browns, or bagel while secretly yearning for my breakfast of chips. That is why I think I knew Rob was it when I gave in one morning looked him dead in the eye and pulled out my Tostitos and salsa. Do you know all these years later he still looks at me just the same, as if I’m out of my damn mind.

Psssh. Whats he know though, he’s a fried egg lover.

One of my favorite things though is that my cousin is just like me. She’s the same as me in the way that we could both probably survive on chips and dip. What is amusing though, is that a typical morning conversation between the two of us if often spoken over the crunch of chips. It’s gotten to the point where I can recognize the difference in a normal pause in conversation and a pause to wipe chips and salsa crumbs. We are so strange.

What is your favorite breakfast food?

I have this stupid little diddy of a song stuck in my head. It’s a song all about cake on the show Lazytown. I won’t do the whole Boinga thing to you guys though and play it for it to get stuck in your head.

I’m going through some stuff right now. And when I know all the concrete details I’ll share it with you guys. It’s pretty bit, and I don’t want to be the sort of blogger who makes huge decisions with out telling ya’ll.

But crap. Now I’m that blogger who told you I had a big decision and then just let you hanging out like some clean sheets. Only, after reading my posts you probably feel more like dirty sheets then clean sheets.

Can I just say that it is so frustrating you can’t just think of something you want or need and have it magically created! There have been so many times while doing this mom thing, I’ve thought, “dammit, if only someone would invent this!” Now, Codi is pulling up to standing and if I left him alone to his own devices he could easily just climb right out of his bassinet. This leaves me sitting there annoyed because there isn’t a perfect transition to solve this. On that same note I’m bothered there isn’t a nice wooden bassinet the same shape as a travel light crib that would adjust for age. Why is it I could only get a teeny wooden rocking bassinet that would only last till he could roll, a stupid uncomfortable pack n play, or a crib that is too big to go by my bed. HOW HAS THIS NOT BEEN CREATED YET PEOPLE!!!!!!!

Codi is crawling and pulling up and doing all these great things and all I think is, NOOOOO my last little baby is growing up way to fast.” I’m also thinking, “dude, stop hurting yourself,” as he flops over on the hardwood or crawls into yet another corner.

Brandon is currently going through a phase I like to call seeing how far he can push my buttons, while seeing just how brave he is, mixed with some NO NO NO IT’S MINE, and a large dolip of FUCK YOU WOMAN I REFUSE TO DO ANYTHING YOU WANT ME TO, and instead will do exactly what he wants, when he wanrs and how he wants.

It’s been real fun around here! Really they have been great. Honest, it’s not like I’ve dreamt of shoving Brandon in the fridge over night in hopes of chilling his little attitude out.

And then just when he knows he’s gone to far I hear a little, “I lub you mom, I lub you Codi.” I look over just in time to see a smile that screams I’m just fooling you but your too stupid to know lady.

At this exact moment Brandon is whining for attention because Codi just woke up. 30 Second before that Brandon wanted me as far away as possible. I pick up Codi and suddenly it’s all “hold me hold me, pay attention to me.” His attempt at attention includes laying square on top of Codi saying “he likes it mom.”

All I’m wondering is FUCK is there ever just a moment of Goddamn silence EVER!

Be back need to go make 5 cups of coffee in hopes of waking up. Probably have to put ice in it since it is 83 in my house and I’m to cheap to turn on the A/C this early in the morning.

I just wanted you all to hear this funny ass noise Codi has been making. It’s only 1 minute long.

So this morning I got in my car and said, fuck it, I’m going to listen to my music and be cool. Real cool, not cool like, I saved $7.00 on this grocery trip cool but actual cool. So I plug in my Ipod, turn up my radio, roll down my window and….

Neil Diamond – I am, I said

Okay, Umm, Not cool.

Lets try again. I push next and.

Erm.

Ahem.

Cher – Jesse James

Fuck. This is not looking good. Blushing. Glancing around to see who is looking.

Okay. Come on Shannon pull it together you are cool. You can do this.

NEXT!

Enya – Oronoco flow.

I give up.

I fail miserably at cool.

Someone should take my ipod away from me. I don’t even deserve one!

Excuse me while I go visit the itunes top 100 list so I can pretend to be hip and cool tonight while I drive home.

How does that talking heads song go? “How did I get here?” I’ve been asking myself that a lot lately. How did I get here? While I love my life, I can’t help but wondering how I ended up in this spot right here. At what point in my life did I wake up and say, “It’s time to stop partying, having fun, sleeping around, and being irresponsible, and time to start changing diapers, going to bed at 7pm, spend my days rushing around, and grow up?” Really at what point do people cognitively stop and say, I want to turn my whole life around?

I’m suffering some sort of writers block lately. The things that are bottling up inside of me are things I don’t feel comfortable writing about. Sharing my entire life with those around me is sometimes frightening. Sometimes I find myself feeling limited and restricted. This makes it hard to write freely. With husbands, parents, aunts and uncles reading, there are things I feel like I must keep to myself. I’ve already suffered a blow out with a family member as a result of things I’ve written. While he and I no longer talk I still watch my writing because I have never for a second believed that he stopped reading.

There have been thousands of times I’ve wanted to write about my birth father, but I refrain because of the anger that usual erupts from it. I’ve wanted to write about past loves or heartaches or current lingerings in my mind, but I don’t because what husband wants to read that? There are times I’ve wanted to write about some of the fun I had when I was younger with the boys, but what dad wants to read that? Times I want to write about disagreements I have at work, or in my daily life, you know, have a sounding board for the comings and goings of my actual life, but I don’t, because, I know better.

These limits leave me with blogging about my kids, and little things like my weigh, or clothes or what not. I can’t blog about religion or politics because I feel too naive to discuss either. I will never claim to have a vast knowledge in those subjects, well, in many subjects for that matter. I don’t often write about my kids, because while I realize a lot of moms come here to read, I also realize there is only so much, “oh look who crawled, walked, back talked, smeared poop on the walls today” talk people can take. Since so many blogs seem to be filled with that lately I try and moderate how often I do. Call it my lame attempt at standing out.

I’ve found myself being so nostalgic lately. Missing old friends, and habits, and the freedom and fun of being 16. I wouldn’t trade my life in for anything but I miss those days. I was someone different then. Poetic, loud, boisterous, mischievous, unaffected, unaffraid. I may have always been depressed and I may have always had large swings, but back then I handled them differently. I wrote poetry, or stories, or letters to myself. I wrote out the sadness and soaked up the music I love. I listened to my songs on full blast, letting the words and beats over take my entire being. I had the time to put a CD on repeat and let a song wash over me 53 times in a row. But I always came out faster, and stayed out longer.

Now, I keep the music down so I don’t hurt little ears. I don’t have time to listen to a song all the way through let alone 53 times in a row. My days are now filled with raising two young minds. Molding them so they don’t turn out like me. And if they do, giving them the tools to handle it better then I do.

I miss having time. Time to write a whole blog on one train of thought rather then write, then jump up to clean purposely spilled water, then write, then run to the pantry to put a toddler in time out for dumping expensive creamer on my floor. I can’t keep a train of thought to save my life. I miss the time to lock the door, blare my music and dance naked in the shower for as long as I want. I miss so much.

I wouldn’t give up my kids for anything. Does that mean that I have to stop missing the other things though? I don’t want to be perceived as someone unhappy with their married family life. Because I’m not. I only wish I could mingle the two. Create some mish mash of that old free spirited girl with the boring mom I’ve become.

I want to laugh about my trip to the store with Ginger that yielded nothing but donuts, bread, pastry, and canned cheese dip. But instead of laughing I stare nervously at the things I brought home and think about the money wasted and how that could have just bought more milk, or meat, or vegetables. I want to spend hours oggling a tiny baby shimmying and wiggling across a hard wood floor, but as I do, I’m thinking, well gee, you really should be taking a shower right now, or doing dishes, or perhaps sweeping the floor one more fucking time today.

Do you have a happy medium. A place where your youth meets your present? How do you balance the two? Do you simply smother that 16 year old voice in your head begging to party and rock out, or do you let her come out and shine? How do you juggle the fun with the parenting? How do you let yourself enjoy small things with out feeling like a guilty mom taking time away from important things?

Am I alone in this? Do we all miss the selves of yesteryear? Do we all miss our tight jeans, and ass shaking walk, and first kisses, and long tasty nights with men? Do we all miss blowing money on crazy food and drinks rather then sensible things?

Like I said, I’m in a writers block. There are so many good stories in this head, they are just stories I don’t think I will ever share. Trying to pic good stories out of my every day life, just reminds me how…mundane I am.