Why I must make lists...

After rediscovering my long-lost blog spot today, I realize, for the probable hundredth time, that I say I am going to do this-that and of course, the other thing, and seldom follow through.

Let's get a few things straight for those who may be wondering, first, I am NOT lazy. No. Quite the contrary. I put too much on my plate and fail to see some of those things through to the end, I like to think of those as my peas. Second, I am realistic, but my bar is set very high. With those things being said, I can offer myself and perhaps my reader only one solution to this conundrum, lists.

I hate to admit that I am a nervous wreck of an over-achiever and get strung out when things aren't just so. I like them done my way and even if help is available or shoved in my face, I'd rather run through the briar patch chasing the mystical rabbit without my shoes on until it's (whatever it is) exactly how I envisioned it. Feet bleeding be damned. ( I also hate to admit here, but see it as only fair to be honest, that I LOVE to say- I did it by myself thank you very much.) So a list person I must remain.

What is this list person? Well- she's anal, that's given. She is also- gulp- structured to have things go according to the predestined plan only determined by her, or else the day is shot to hell. She is easily disappointed (naturally) by others shortcomings- which, are only measurable by the extreme high standards that she creates. "Witch!" "Witch!" I CAN hear you! But don't be mislead, she is also kind, generous and works very hard to make sure everyone around her is having a great time- even at her own expense. The lists serve as her morning cups of coffee. It is by them that she can begin her day.

What does she list? EVERYTHING. What bills are to be paid on that day, where she has to go, where she wants to go, appointments, whom she has to call, whose birthday it is even if they haven't spoken in awhile, what Hallmark holiday it is, which book she should read, which books she should buy, what to eat and on and on. It is a living nightmare.

There is a payoff however. She gets it all done and has a sense of accomplishment. If its on the list it might as well be written in the good book. The trick is to pencil in. Exercise, that must be penciled in, as well as homework assignments. I guess "write on your blog" needs to be penciled into the list once or twice a week as well.

The Back Forty

I’ve come to the conclusion that people just can’t be bothered to park their own cars anymore. With valet parking available virtually everywhere, who needs to park? No more circling like a vulture for a front row space and if you can recall an irate Evelyn Couch in Fried Green Tomatoes, it’s no wonder that more places from malls to YMCA’s are offering the service. I dare ask though, are American’s becoming lazy and down right spoiled?

I remember summers with my mom and her parking lot strategy. She always parked in “the back forty” and happily chirped about how she enjoyed walking as my brother and I shuffled our feet and grumbled across the lot. It didn’t matter if it was raining cats and dogs, or if there were a million open spaces in the first and second rows. We always managed to be the lone car in the back of the lot, usually next to a curb or a pole. I’d like to say that parking far away was a miniature lesson for my brother and me, about something deeper, like the importance of exercise or saving the front spots for expecting mothers. I’d like to say that. Looking back now I think that maybe the real reason was anxiety associated with parking.

How many times can I remember pulling into an ill-fated spot with my father’s Crown Victoria. The uncertainty looming before me, will my hood scrape along the side of that car? It’s like peering over the starboard side of The Titanic and watching hesitantly for the moment of impact with the iceberg. Then there’s the fact that generally speaking, parents with car loads of children park as close as possible, creating scary scenario number two. While backing up out of a spot, watching cautiously the bow of the car for impact, I fail to see the child run across the stern.

These anxieties might lead one to park in some remote spot in the lot or to turn to valet. Although it may be a sign of a deadly sin, there are advantages to allowing someone else to park for you.

For starters, there’s the problem of having too much stuff to carry. It’s one thing to tote one’s bag or pocket book, lap top even. But it is another to have the bag, the lap top, the diaper bag, the book bag, the report for work, the lunch bag and- did we forget the kid? Valet parking allows us to dump, dump, and dump at the curb and “forget-about-it.” Curb side service also makes us feel like royalty I suppose.

Some men are still chivalrous. Some men drop their wives off at the front door. For most of us, no-one is going to be dropping us off at the door. For those majority of us, isn’t it nice to have the red-carpet treatment once in awhile?

So while I speculate on the impending disease of lazy to strike Americans, I can’t help but support valet parking. Kathy Bates captures it well as Evelyn Couch; the furry of being ousted out of “our spot”. “Hello! My blinker was on!” Let’s save some car scratches. Hell, let’s save our blood pressure. Let’s let someone park for us once in awhile-occasionally.

Deserve what you want

It's another boy. I am so very happy! We have picked out the name Noah James. I have also decided that this will be it for me. I think that two boys will be enough to raise and although I thought I would be disappointed if I didn't have one of each, I continue to hold with my feelings about everything happening for a reason. I think as I look ahead now that two boys are exactly what I want. Which brings me to the title of my post today, deserve what you want.

I was reading an article or a blog, these things are becoming confusing with the increasing number of blogs out there, and read that you deserve what you want. I was doing some soul searching, not for any particular reason other than being pregnant and emotional and faced with the fact I am bringing another life into the world, and came across this obvious yet meaningful mantra. Deserve What You Want.

After deep consideration of this I have come to conclude that there are two likely explanations for this school of thought. The first is that we all deserve, in some manner of speaking, what we want simply because every man is free to follow his own happiness and to pursue those things that bring joy and elation to life. Whose to tell us we don't deserve the nice home with picket fence anyway? My second explanation is to deserve what we want, we have to work hard for it and earn it. This one is more logical to me because I came from a home where nothing was ever handed to me, I had to work and earn, but more importantly I had to appreciate.

I will never forget the one time my father accused my brother and myself of being ingrates. I had to go to the bookshelf and pull out the dictionary to look up the word. Was it really an accusation or was there some truth to it? I remember being insulted when I discovered the meaning and thinking to myself "I am too grateful." At the time, I probably wasn't. I was probably caught up in the I want everything my friends have and they didn't work for it, whoa is me stage in my life. Needless to say, the truth hit home and caused me to reflect and make some changes. I learned more from hearing the anger and disappointment in my father's voice that day then I ever did at church on the subject of being thankful for what I have. And now when I catch myself thinking, wouldn't it be nice if I had this or that, I reflect on what I do have and am grateful. And if, if, it is something I really want, I work hard for it, earn and appreciate it. I deserve it.

I guess there isn't really a correct way of looking at my new mantra. Allowing it to set in and cause reflection is enough. Deserve what you want, I guess it should be laced with and find a way to get it.

The Secret Baby

Last night I had another dream about the sex of my baby... this time it was a boy. Way back now, before I got pregnant I had a dream that I was having a "secret" baby. I was pregnant and no-one seemed to know about it, not even my fiance'. I gave birth privately in my bedroom, alone, and came out as fresh as a daisy with a baby girl wrapped up in my arms. Now that I am about 17 weeks pregnant, sex has been on my mind.

I am hoping for a girl naturally as I already have a 28 month-old son. I am certain that I have taken every gender predictor test online that exists . I have had the old-wives tell me it's a girl because I don't like the heel of my bread, news flash!, I have NEVER liked the heel of the damn bread. I have answered every ridiculous question about how high I am carrying, compared to what I might ask, fibbed about how much extra weight I was actually acquiring in my butt and how bad my face has actually broken out. Most of the time, a girl is on her way, but because I have cold feet and fancy my tummy to look more basketball in shape than watermelon- it could be a boy.

I have gone so far as to try, being the operative word here, to teach myself radiology. Looking at every ultrasound picture I can come across, I make guesses at if it's a boy or a girl, needless to say, I really don't know what I am doing. The only helpful piece in this new adventure is that a baby girl has something with "three tell-tale lines."

I went for an ultrasound back at 10 weeks gestation and of course there is no way to tell if I am looking at my son or my daughter. In one picture I see a head, a protruding belly and curled up feet; in another, I say this with nothing but love and affection, a little gummy bear. I am going for the ultrasound that should reveal the secret in just over a week. I am so anxious. This baby is the make or break baby.

What do I mean by make or break... here we go. My step-sister had her first son when she was 19, Jacob the first grandson for our Brady Bunch family. At 21 Tammy had her second son, Owen, grandson number two. Then a funny sort-of thing happened. Tammy and me, the baby, got pregnant at the same time. I had my son Lucas at 20 and Tammy had her third son, Cameron a week later at 24, we are now up to four grandsons. We two only account for 2/5's of the Brady clan children. Jerry the eldest, Terry next in line, Tammy you have already heard of, C.J my biological brother and myself make up the whole gang.

So... we have the four grandchildren, all boys, and a year later, Jerry and his wife produce a son, Terry II. Until now, with my pregnancy, our family had tapped out at five grandsons with the hope that maybe Terry and his wife would have a daughter. They aren't ready for children yet and neither is my brother C.J. Now that I am pregnant with my second child, the pressure is on.

I'll be happy either way- truthfully. But, I couldn't be happier than if I were the first to make a cheerleader amongst our football team. Plus, although I am only 22, I am hoping that I get my daughter so that I can have one of each and retire a victor. Make or Break is a lot clearer now isn't it.

If it's not a girl will I try again- I don't know. Maybe down the road, but I am in this place in my life where I am finishing school, getting a career started and am ready to see where my road is going to take me and does that road have more diapers later on... I hope not. Anyone and everyone who knows me will tell you that I do things backwards, so while all my friends will be ready to have children, I am hoping to be taking vacations. It's cool to know I will be 38 at my son's graduation.

I keep telling myself it is only a week and three days and then I will know. Of course, my phone will be buzzing to life with texts and voice mails inquiring is it? is it? I thought for a little that I would keep it a secret and drive everyone crazy, but who am I kidding anyway. If it is a she, I will be bragging to everyone. So instead, Steve and I have decided to keep the name a secret, at least no-one can harass us to much on that!