Monday, August 29, 2011

Breakfast of Champions

I had a horrible evening.  Rotten even.  I love my baby boy so much, but man oh man do I wish that kid would sleep!  He's closing in on five months old now and just when you think he's getting close to allowing me to sleep all night he goes and changes it right up.  

I feel bad for him though.  I think the little bugger is starting to teeth.  Although there are no signs of sharp daggers popping through his gums just yet, the drooling, whining, chewing and tugging on his ear are probable signs.  What it means for me, however, is that I'm up every hour to hour and a half at night trying to calm the little guy down so he can go back to sleep.  You get the picture.  I wake up looking and feeling like an angry super mutant from Fallout.  For those of you who don't know what that looks like, it goes a little something like this:

Yep, pretty scary, huh?  I just wish I had that body armor to protect myself from the day's events.

My children all get up at 6AM.  By then the baby is ready to eat and be changed.  In my mutant like state I yell at every little noise my children make.  If they fart I get angry.  I text my husband telling him how angry I am that he has to go to work and he's abandoned me sleepless with five children.  It's irrational, yes, but again... I'm not quite myself (refer back to the above photo).  The morning progresses and I do everything in my power to sneak in a few more opportunities to close my eyes.  It doesn't go well.    

An hour later, my eight year old asks me if he can walk to the bus stop by himself.  I decided in my very tired and fragile mutant state that this request was worth granting.  So I gave him a quick recap of the "stranger danger" speech and sent him on his way.  I then flopped (and yes, it was most definitely a flop) back on the couch to sleep for another thirty minutes before I had to put my two younger boys on the bus.  I can't let them walk by themselves yet.  They'd probably get lost and end up in Egypt.

Thirty minutes later, I change into a pair of jeans and put a sweater on over my newly stained white tank top (hating my washing machine blog to follow soon) and get the kids into the car to drive the half a block to the bus stop.  I really am that lazy.

While I'm sitting in the car waiting for the bus to mosey on down the road, I decide that I'm hungry.  My thirteen year old is at home with the baby, so I decide that a quick trip to Dunkin' Donuts is in order.  The boys skip onto the bus and I head the few blocks to the yummy donut shop.  

Upon arrival, I grab an orange juice and tell the guy I want a dozen donuts.  A lady grabs a box and asks me what ones I want.  I carefully select pretty much every donut with frosting and sprinkles (with the exception of 2 crullers) and avoid anything with filling.  Filling donuts are just gross.  They are.  She closes up the box, looks at me and says, "Yum!  I wish I worked where you work!".  I just gave her a sideways smile and walked out the door.  In my puked on jeans, stained tank top and over sized sweater she thought I was on my way into the office?  Not to mention my horrifying hair do' and bloodshot eyes.  Lady, I'm taking these puppies home.  To my quiet house.  To enjoy the sugary goodness all to myself.  So I can return to normal from my super mutant state.

Don't they look good?   

Monday, August 22, 2011

Where I'm At Today

I'm finding myself stuck in a rut lately.  I want to blame it on the horrific financial situation my husband and I have been in for the better part of two years now.  I want to blame it on the complete douche my husband works for.  I want to blame it on pretty much every stupid, petty thing I can possibly lay thought on.

I'm learning, though, that it's not about the money and not about the douchey boss (although I'm not making that up.. that guy is like Michael Scott and Bill Lumbergh made a baby and dropped it on it's head... A LOT).  It's about me.  It's about beating myself up for years.  It's about letting every small thing affect my motivation, my style, my attitude and my happiness.

I think back to my senior year of high school.  I found myself young and pregnant.  I knew college wasn't going to be in the cards.  I didn't really know what to expect and I sure as hell didn't have a plan.  I just knew that I would have to take care of that baby and do a damn good job.

My oldest son was born before my senior year was over.  I finished my classes at home with tutors and I was able to graduate with my class.  Everyone was so proud of me.  Hell, I was proud of me.  A couple of months after graduation I got myself a job (not that I hadn't worked before, but this job was for a purpose greater than extra money for school clothes and movies) and with in my son's first year of life, I had an apartment, a car and a crap load of self respect.  That doesn't mean it was easy, but I was happy with my life.  I was doing it.  I was living my life and taking good care of my son.

I think that's the hardest thing to cope with today.  I did it then, why can't I do it now?  The easy answer is that I don't have just one baby anymore.  I have a husband and five children.  That's a lot of mouths to feed.  I watch my husband suffer daily at his job and feel helpless.  I can't do anything to save him.  My role is taking care of our kids.  It's an important job, but I'm the type of person that wants to be the savior.  I want to help everyone.  I want to fix everything.  That's a lot of fucking pressure to put on myself.  It's no wonder I've kind of become a nut job.

But the world keeps moving.  My kids are growing up.  Another year passes by.  I keep getting older.  In all these years though, I have never recovered that faith in myself.  That confidence I had when I was 18 and 19.  I've been trying to get my photography business off the ground and although I enjoy taking photos, I still haven't found my niche.  I think it's mainly because I lack confidence. I lack confidence in myself and I lack faith in my own abilities.  I do somehow manage to turn out good photos and I do get business, but I think that this isn't really going to take off for me until I truly know who I am.  I have to somehow get back to that old me.  Not go into the past, but rediscover the strong person I used to be.  I have a lot to offer and I have a lot to say.  I just need to stop doubting myself and I need to remember that I'm no superhero and I shouldn't keep trying to be one.  I'm just Cathy Broz.  I'm a wife.  I'm a mother.  I'm a photographer.  I'm a person who likes to teach herself how to do new things.  What the hell is wrong with that?

I hate writing sappy shit and being all serious here, but in struggling with this blog and keeping it alive I've found that I have to just be myself.  And this is it folks.  Bad moods, good moods, bitch on wheels.  At the end of the day, I truly have to figure this out... for myself for sure, but definitely for these guys....