Dream a Little Dream, part Dos

My subconscious has a very active imagination. I have very vivid, realistic dreams. And I usually remember them. Well, most of them...or at least wake up with very strong emotions from whatever was happening in my dream.

Maybe I'll start a dream journal on here, and you can all psycho-analyze me.

So, for the past few nights, I've had different variations of the same recurring dream. I dreamt that my husband decided he didn't love me anymore, and left me to be with somebody else. Each night, the dream was slightly different, but the theme was the same. And each night, I was devastated. And then panic set in. Panic at the thought that I might actually have to be alone.

I remember a thought occurring to me in the dream along the lines of, "Who am I going to be with now?"

And my own personal analysis? There's some truth to it. Not the part where my husband leaves me (I hope), but the part that I am afraid to be alone.

I am a very social person. I need people. And as long as I can remember, I always had a boyfriend. Always. I was once accused by a girlfriend in high school that all of my boyfriends overlapped. And as much as I hate to admit it, its kinda true. I even dumped a guy after I met my hubby.

I couldn't live without my girlfriends either. I have to talk about everything I go through.

Take away my people, and I am nothing but the shell of a woman, who happens to be devastatingly beautiful, have a wicked awesome sense of humor, and a sparkling personality.

Hey, I never said, I was afraid to be with myself!

Where, oh where has my little June gone?

I have been...well...distracted. By, you know, life and stuff.

When I first started this blog, I was having what I guess I would call a bad marriage moment. We all have them, don't you go telling me you don't, but everyone does. If you think you don't you're lying to yourself. Everyone has problems. It is how we choose to react to those problems that defines our character.

In the fall, my husband travels. A lot! And it's hard, you know. And while he's gone, I get lonely, then sad, then totally and completely PISSED OFF!

Well, he's been home now for a month. And I haven't been blogging because I have been basking in wedded bliss. Now, I'm totally madly in love with my husband, and of course with Santa's elves peeking in the windows at any given moment, my children are perfect little angels, and I'm totally in love with them!

For now.

My husband leaves again next Tuesday. I know, right before Christmas! Well, of course it's college football bowl game time, so he HAS to actually GO to the games. I even offered to throw a giant man party, and have all of his stinky buddies over to watch the games, but NO. He has to GO to the games. So, we'll see how I feel about him next week.

And of course, by next Friday afternoon, after the munchkins score all of their loot, they'll turn back into rotten, good for nothing, spoiled brats. So, we'll see how I feel about them after that.

But for now, I'm blissfully happy, enjoying the holidays, and I just wanted to write a token, happy, post, to let you know I'm still alive.

Merry Christmas!

THE Talk.

Oh yes, THE Talk. You know the one. The one where you have to tell your precious not so little baby about S. E. X.

Well, I had to have it with my 8 year old the other day. I've been thinking she's about the right age for a while now, but have never found the "right time."

Then, the other day, being the super awesome parent that I am, I was sitting in the family room watching TV. And she came in to watch with me. I really should've turned it off, but I didn't. You forget how open and spongy their little minds are.
And you know, there are a lot of sitcoms out there, that really do teeter on the line of being porn. Seriously. I totally love them!

But not for my kids.

So, I was watching "Two and a Half Men" which is like the epitome of sexual sitcoms on television today, and of course Charlie was talking to his girlfriend of the hour about having sex. And I forgot my sweet, innocent baby was sitting next to me.

Suddenly, she blurts out, "Mommy, do you and Daddy have sex?"

Well, if they ain't the perfect opportunity to have "the talk" and I don't take it, then shoot me!
So, I turned off the TV, turned to her, and asked, "Honey, do you know what Sex means?"

Turning red, she looked down and shook her head, slowly.
"Do you want me to tell you?" I asked.
"I guess," she replied, with an embarrassed grin.

Then, I proceeded to describe to her about body parts, and making babies. Of course, I had to throw in that it's a special thing that only happens between married people, a necessary disclaimer.

Her eyes widened in horror. I asked if she had any questions, and she sighed and said, "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

I'm afraid I've scarred her for life.

So, tell me, have you had to give the talk to your kids yet? How did it go?

Post Secret

I've been spending a lot of time lately, reading Post Secret.

What is it about that blog? It sucks you in. Other people's secrets are so intriguing. It either makes you feel like your not alone, and that other people are going through the same thing you are, or you realize that it's really not that bad. Somebody else has it worse than you do.

I have a few secrets of my own. And since this blog is supposed to be my safe haven, I feel no qualms about sharing them here. Yeah, they might seem lame and small, but anything you don't feel comfortable sharing openly to the people in your life is a secret.

My husband is out of town. Again. He travels alot for work. And I whine and complain at him that I don't want him to go. But, secretly, deep down, I like it when he's gone. I like that I get a few days to completely let myself and the house go. I didn't do a damn thing today. I didn't shower. I didn't put on a bra. I'm still in my pajamas from last night. I have dried mascara caked under my eyes. I didn't brush my teeth. My laundry is piled to the ceiling, my dishes are stacked sky high. My kids dressed themselves today, and have been walking around with rats nests and yesterday's ice cream on their faces.

And I. Don't. Care!

There, I said it. I don't give a rat's red ass if my house is a disaster area, if you can smell me from a block away, or if my children are running down the street buck naked and screaming.

Obviously, the man in my life is the glue that keeps me and my sanity together. His expectations and standards keep the family going and staying "normal." He cares what the neighbors think of us.

It's very liberating to me to get a little break from our image and cut loose.

What's more?

I fantasize about being a completely different person. I single, younger, skinner version of me with big, perky breasts and no pooches or stretch marks, no crows feet or smile lines. And all the hot guys want me. I fantasize about different romantic encounters (like with Jason Bateman, for instance).

And I wanna know. Is this normal? Am I completely emotionally cheating on my husband? Or do other women fantasize about what could've been, too?

So, do you have a secret?

Please share! (anonymous comments welcome on this one!)

Excuses, excuses

Pardon my absence.

I've been busy with sick babies, birthdays, making really shoddy High School Musical cakes for my 8 year old because I'm too proud to actual purchase one, and wiping snot and vomit from all over my children and home.

I'll be back to normal, hopefully, next week.

Arrival

Folks, the shit has hit the fan!

I've been going around my neighborhood bragging to everyone about how great everyone at my house has been feeling. No one in my family gets sick! We are SUPER HUMAN!

Well, my four-year-old, Suzie, has been jealous of all of her friends.
She whines to me, "Mommy, why did all my friends get the swine flu and I didn't? It's not faaiir!"
And of course, I replied, "We can't just get you everything you want, just because your friends have it too."

But, being the sensitive, push-over parent that I am, after begging, and crying, I let her go out and play with sick kids.

Lo, and behold, this morning, Suzie woke up and barfed her brains out, coughed up a lung, and had a seizure because of her high grade fever.

Ward and I are so proud of her. This is a major accomplishment in her life, and I'm proud to be a witness, and hold her hair while she vomits out her hopes and dreams. All in the name of peer pressure.

You know what I think of the Swine Flu? Or H1N1, or whatever the cool kids are calling it now?

H1N1? What kind of name is that? Is it a chemical concoction, like Hydrogen, and Nitrogen? Yeah, I paid attention in Chemistry 101. I totally know my Periodic Table of Elements.

Ok, not really, I found a smart nerdy guy who let me cheat off his answers if I showed him my boobs. Survival of the fittest, people!

But, I digress, what was I saying?

Oh yes. H1N1 flu. I look at it as the same thing as the 9-11 World Trade Center attack, or that poisonous stuff in the ceiling in the 70's....what was that called? Google?......oh yes, asbestos. Remember the asbestos in your mail scare earlier this decade?

Yes, I believe that the swine flu is a terrorist attack on the United States. I mean, come on, it's epidemic (yeah, I had to look that one up too....don't you just LOVE Google?).

I really think that some middle eastern suicide freakazoid American hater infected his flock (or head of whatever they call it) of pigs with some deadly, mutating, highly infectious disease, then made out with the female pig, and flew in to out beloved Motherland, and started exposing massive amount of people, which of course, spread to other masses. Throw in a little media stunt to scare everyone and there you have it.

Complete pandemonium.

Oh my Golly Gee Fiddlesticks! My baby has been a victim of a terrorist attack!!

Run for your lives!

p.s. If you need me, we'll be hiding out in our bomb shelter out back.

Dream a Little Dream....

I dreamt last night that I was having an affair with Jason Bateman. But in my dream he was Justin Bateman. Wait. Which is it? Jason or Justin? I'm so confused.

Anywho.....

in my dream Jason was this famous comic actor in movies and stuff (far-fetched, I know), and I was a beautiful, stunning, and skinny regular person, and he just fell head over hills in love with me. Oh, and the sex was really hot!

Seriously, brain? Jason Bateman? That's all you could come up with? There are hundreds of really, hot famous guys out there to fantasize about and my sub-conscious settles on Jason Bateman? What. The. Crap.



Ok, ok, he's kinda cute. I could do worse.

I know, I know I'm a married woman. I shouldn't be having dreams about affairs with 80's child stars, I know.

Just to set the record straight this isn't a husband-bashing blog. It may have seemed that way in my last post.

I love my husband. Really, honestly, I do. He is a very, very hard working, good man, who happens to be believe in polygamy.

What? No it's no like that.

The man is married to his job. I keep joking that if he keeps working as late as he does, he's going to have to have a futon put in his office to sleep on.
So, sometimes, my lonely subconscious needs a little TLC. Okay?

I also had a dream last night that I became an uber famous writer, just from writing my snarky little ideas on my blog. That would be sooo cool!
I could be like The Pioneer Woman, or Dooce, or Perez Hilton.

Ugh. How do people like that get so famous? I'm too poor to hire a P.R. department.

Maybe my one reader could shout out to the masses about how cool I am?

Where to Begin?

I don't want this blog to be a downer. But, I need somewhere to go. Somewhere, completely separate from my world, my reality. Somewhere, I can come and just talk to the universe. Get things off my chest, without worrying about who's reading this, or who will judge me for my deepest darkest thoughts and feelings.

Today has been okay. I got some housework accomplished. I hate housework. More than cats hate dogs. Especially...well...all of it. I avoid it like the plague. And I am married to Ward Cleaver. And believe me, my name ain't June. I grew up in a home where cleanliness was optional. Oh, we bathed, and took care of basic hygienic needs, but it was no big deal, if dirty clothes landed on my bedroom floor for months on end. Basically, I grew up believing that there are more important things in life than cleaning all day.
My husband grew up pretty much the opposite. And he expects me to keep an orderly, well-oiled machine....uh...home.
Have you seen that email going around? The one that shows a Good Housekeeping from 1950? The one that says if you want to keep your husband happy, put on lipstick, having the house sparkling, keep the children quiet, and have the fire going and a hot dinner on the stove when he comes home from a hard day's work at the office?
Yeah, that's my husband. He is the type of man to come home from work, and ask me what I do all day.
Forget that I've been slaving all day, driving kids this way and that, cleaning and pressing his shirts, mopping floors, cooking dinner.
Gag me.
I'll let you in on a little secret. I wait until an hour before he's supposed to get home and make a mad dash to make it look like I've been working hard all day. He can't tell the difference. What's the big deal if I sit down on the couch, watch Oprah and eat bon-bons for a little while every day?

You know, one day, when all of my kids are in school all day, I might go out and and get me one of them fancy job things. Like maybe I could be a secretary, or a department store clerk, or an Avon lady! What a dream!

For the record, I hate Oprah. And bon-bons. And my dream job? Well, it'll never happen to who cares?

Signed,
regular, ordinary, plain old not June