I still don't get it...

This is Desmond. He is my husband. I don't understand him.

Men complain about the fact that they will never understand women. They take pride in the fact (or opinion) that they are simple creatures who don't need much. Food and sex are their immediate needs, followed by love, money, and power, and peace, in no particular order.

One could argue that it's easy to give a man what he needs. The things he needs that his woman can't give him, she can at least help him attain. I've always agreed with this assessment. I know that I'm a complicated being, with many wants and needs. It would take Desmond a lifetime or two just to figure out what those things are, much less understand why I need them or how to provide them.

Ok, so this is probably true of most women right? And the former is probably true of most men. But something happened the other night that put my belief system to the test. I'll explain.

Our house is built on Georgia red clay. It's pretty much guaranteed that the ants will come out in force during the summer season. We can usually take care of them with a few sprays of bug spray and a thorough vacuuming every day. I'd always noticed how irate Desmond would get when he would see an ant in the house. He would make some kind of "man noise" that I can't spell or describe. Then he would stomp them, spray them, then suck them up into our Hoover.

Well, his behavior has gotten progressively worse. He has taken to glaring at the ants, then stomping them, then spraying them, then sucking them up into the Hoover. One morning he woke up, turned to me, and said, "I dreamed about ants last night. I hate them."

I didn't quite know what to say to that.

It got worse. We went a couple of days without an ant sighting. We came home one night and there were a few crawling out of the coat closet. "Man noise" again. And then, a diatribe that I simply could not understand:

Desmond: I hate these stupid ants!
Me: But ants are so little. I can see hating spiders, but ants? They can't do anything to you!
Desmond: I hate ants the most! Do you know why? Because they come in your house! They come in, try to bite on you, they eat up your food, and they go wherever they want to go. And do you know the worst part? Their asses don't even pay any rent! I pay the mortgage, and they have the nerve to come up in my house like they live here!
Me: *blank stare*
Desmond: You know what? I wish I had a gun right now. I would actually shoot every last one of 'em. I'm serious. Damn ants, got me wanting to shoot up my own floor.
Me: Bwah ha ha ha ha ha ha!
Desmond: It's not funny!

I'm sorry, but I just didn't see what was so serious about the situation. I still don't. They're just ants! But to Desmond, they are some outside force that is trying to invade our home. He is powerless to keep them out, and that really makes him mad. And that is where he loses me. That is the nature of, well, nature. The red clay is their home. We built our house on it! It's like the pilgrims and the Indians all over again! Just kidding. Except, not really.

I realize now that I wasn't giving his feelings the credence they deserved. He didn't care, of course, because he didn't need my understanding or approval to hate the ants. But I cared. How could I constantly ask for understanding and consideration without reciprocating?

Maybe I will never understand. I will continue to seek understanding, while laughing, but I don't think it's possible. And that's ok. It's ok for a man to be complicated sometimes. Desmond needs to have power over those ants, and I'll just have to continue to help him attain it. I've got my Hoover and I'm ready to go.

Sigh...

Every now and then, I see something that takes my breath away.

PETA, or People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, is a famous group that has a noble cause. Their mission is to protect and fight for the rights of all animals. Sounds good, right? Of course it does. They often employ celebrities to help with this cause, like Pamela Lee, or Alec Baldwin. Sounds even better. Every now and then, they toe the line with some of their protests, and they have even been known to throw blood on fur coat wearers. But hey, sometimes people get overzealous when they really believe in something, right?

Please take a look at this slide show:
PETA's New Exhibit

I'm really disgusted.

Breathe...

I've always been deathly afraid of thunderstorms. Whenever I saw the dark clouds rolling in, my stomach would tie up in knots, my heart would pound, and my mouth would get dry. I would turn on the Weather Channel and keep a close vigil until the storm passed. At times, I would even cover my ears for the duration of the storm just to keep myself from losing it.

After Morgan was born, I felt that I needed to get control of this issue. It was irrational and often debilitating. The only people who knew about it were Desmond and my family. It was embarrassing for me, a grown woman, to be afraid of weather. But I knew I couldn't be the only one, so I logged onto the net. Much to my surprise, I found that there was a name for what I had. It's called Severe Weather Phobia, and you can find out more about it here, at Stormphobia.

The most important piece of information I got from this site was that most adult Stormphobics are not just afraid of the storm. They are afraid of 1) not being in control, and 2)their reaction to the storm. I found this interesting because, well, I'm a person who likes to be in control. All the time. It wasn't the storms I hated, it was the way I reacted to them.

So I prayed, meditated, and tried to relax. I had learned from the message board that deep breathing helps. (So does Xanax, but I wasn't going there.) Time passed, and storm season arrived. No change. Knotty stomach, dry mouth, pounding heart. Breathe, breathe again. Deep breaths. I didn't know how I was going to make it through the summer.

Then a little thing called Hurricane Dennis happened. The storm hit land, moved up through Alabama, then passed to the left of Atlanta. As anyone who watches The Weather Channel religiously knows, the most dangerous section of a hurricane is the right front quadrant. This part passed over Atlanta, bringing thunderstorms and tornadoes. I was filled with dread as I watched the rain bands get closer and closer to my county. Then it happened.

We were under a tornado warning.

It was the moment I had dreaded most for 20+ years. I looked at Desmond, he looked at me, and...we smiled. I told him to go get Morgan and bring her crib mattress down. He said ok and I went into the hallway by the bathroom. They joined me a few minutes later and we waited. I did my deep breathing exercises and watched Morgan play. I admired, even envied the fact that she had no knowledge of what was going on. I longed for her innocence.

After about 20 uneventful minutes, the warning expired. I was so happy! Not because the tornado never came (although that was great), but because I had survived. We were safe and the house was intact. I had not lost control. Looking back on that, I realize that I had always expected to totally lose it if a tornado was near. I didn't think I was strong enough to handle it, and that bothered me, especially considering the fact that I was now responsible for another person's life.

I am happy to say that I am cured. I still get nervous, but I no longer have a physiological response to the weather. I'm beginning to wonder if there wasn't a bit of selfishness and narcissism associated with my phobia. After all, I never worried about Desmond when he was at work during a storm, or my mom or sister when a storm was in their area. It was almost like I knew they would be fine. It was me who was a blubbering, trembling mess. Now that I know I can handle it, that I'm strong enough, I'm not afraid.

That said, I still watch The Weather Channel. Not for me, but for Morgan. She likes the jazz.

Smells like Teen Spirit

This might be too much information, but I love Dove deodorant! I challenge you to take the Dove 7-day test! Armpits to underarms!

Why am I giving away free advertising, you ask? Because I am so satisfied with this product. After I had Morgan, I noticed that my underarms were a bit more...uh...pungent. Yeah, that's it. No, no, aromatic. Yes, much better.

I assume it was due to a hormonal imbalance. Pregnancy really does a number on your body. Anyhow, I started using Desmond's Degree deodorant. It worked, but my underarms got really rough and dry. I knew I couldn't go back to Secret, and Suave was completely out of the question. So I went back to old faithful: Teen Spirit! Custom crafted for the pubescent girl, this deodorant could mask anything! And look at the pretty colors on the front! Ooh, hot pink!

Ok, I'm going to keep it real. Putting on Teen Spirit as a grown woman was like spraying perfume on my armpit. Old perfume that's turned to pure alcohol. It was way too strong. I could smell it when I raised my arm. Or bent over. Or watched TV. Or blinked. You get my drift. I mean, it actually made my sinuses hurt. So, Teen Spirit was out.

I got a coupon for Dove in my Sunday paper. (More about couponing later). There was a great sale at CVS, and I was able to get some for $.50 each. I didn't think it would work, but for $.50, I thought it was worth a try.

It truly worked wonders for me. Not only did it mask my, um, olfactory inequities, but it made my underarms soft and silky. Can you believe that? Truth in advertising!

So, take the Dove challenge. If it doesn't work for you, just picture me doing this:

Ain't no sunshine...

Bad day. Bad, bad day.

I got a lead on a job today. An old coworker gave me the number to a recruiter who is staffing for the bank where I used to work. I called her.

Mind you, it's 12:04 pm. Morgan is in her highchair eating carrot pancakes and cantaloupe. I'm in my pajamas. I haven't prepared myself for this call because, well, I'm awesome! Why would I need to prepare when I'm always prepared? I dial the number, thinking, I'll just wow her with my charm and eloquence.

I did not wow her. I sounded totally unsure of myself, and I actually stuttered a few times. Not only that, I mispronounced 'requisition'. Then, I couldn't think of an answer to a very important question.

"What is your number so that I can call you back?"

At that moment, my mind went blank. I finally remembered it, but as I said it, my voice went hoarse. Sigh. Then, I hung up with her and decided to call my old co-worker back. Guess who I called back by mistake? So then, I had to laugh my way through the oft used phrase, "Oops! I dialed the wrong number!" Giggle, giggle. She seemed a tad annoyed.

Needless to say, I don't think she will be calling me back.

I think the problem is that I've been out of the workforce for over a year. I've lost that corporate timbre that I used to be able to switch on and off at will. It's been replaced with the "mommy voice", which is not suitable for work. Well, unless you work in a nursery. Or a nursing home. Or a strip club.

So, I'm at a crossroads. I believe everything happens for a reason. Maybe that job wasn't for me. Maybe I'm not supposed to work at all. I don't know at this point, but I'm very frustrated.

I hope tomorrow will be sunny.

We interrupt this program...

Breaking news! Kids go back to school this week!

Oh wait. That happens every summer? Then why is it the top news story every night? I have to be honest here. I don't really care about kids going back to school. Ok, I care in the sense that I hope they're all safe, happy, healthy, and ready to learn. But to me, it's just not a newsworthy event. It's kind of like the "ice storms" that happen in Georgia every winter. Ooh, sleet!

I will say this: The kids in my neighborhood have been good this summer. There wasn't a lot of screaming and yelling and such. My next door neighbor is a teenage girl. Her mom works during the day, and I assume she is not allowed to have company at that time. So sometimes I'll walk outside and see her and a male friend sitting on the porch. I used to do that. It's called "skirting the rules". I think every kid does it.

Now, if I were anything like the neighbors we had growing up, I would have told on her by now. But I'm of a new generation. You mind your own business these days. Besides, how much trouble can you get into on the porch in broad daylight?

So I salute you, rule-skirters! What Mom and Dad don't know won't hurt 'em! Anytime you are apprehensive about rule-skirting, just tell yourself: If it's good enough for the President, it's good enough for me!

Has she started already?

Mommy and Me Morgan and Me


Do you remember how your mother used to say, "Just wait until you have kids!"? What, exactly, was she wishing would happen? That your kids would treat you the way you treated her? That your kids would treat you like the best parent in the world? That you would appreciate her more?

Well, if it was the first option, I think it has aready begun. Morgan will not walk. She will stand if she thinks nobody's looking, but she will not walk on her own. She won't even walk holding onto our hands anymore. It's almost as if she is taunting me. "Ha, ha! I know what you want, and you're not getting it!"

Is this payback? Is this my just reward for the 18 years of stubbornness I inflicted upon my own mother?

Did I mention that Morgan won't eat either? Well, she'll eat fruit, chicken, and ground beef. That's about it.

Well, payback is something else, I'll tell you. I've already worried myself half to death over this. Her pediatrician said that we won't have to really worry until 15 months, which is two weeks away. Yay for me! Only two more weeks of worry!

On the plus side, Morgan is talking a lot now, which counteracts some of my worrying. She can count to 3 on her own. I mean sure, she says 1,2,3,2,3,2,3,2,3......, but that's better than nothing right?

At any rate, I do appreciate my mother so much more after having had my own daughter.

Put on your poker face

The Gold Ring

I love poker. Texas Hold'em, to be exact. I have dreams of making it to the World Poker Tour or the World Series of Poker. There's a link on the right to several essays on Low Limit Texas Hold'em, which is usually what I play on the internet. I don't play for real money, but I have racked up over $30,000 in fake money.

I play with Desmond at home, and I must say, I beat him pretty often. We play for stuff like who will do the dishes or who will cook. I guess it's my way of getting out of the things I normally do.

I think Desmond looks a bit like Phil Ivey, a poker champ:
Phil Desmond

So there you have it. Is it meant to be? Right now, I'm just a stay-at-home mom with lofty poker dreams. But you may see me on ESPN one day and remember this blog.

My Morgan

This is "My Morgan". She is 14 months old and a real trip. I've always called her "MY Morgan". I guess that makes me possessive. But I think I earned that right. And she'll be "My Morgan" until I die. So there you go.

I see a lot of myself in her, but even more of Desmond in her. From looks to personality, Morgan is a Daddy's girl.

I have no problem with this, but I did want her to inherit something from me. Will she get my passion for debate? My love of reading? My propensity to be anti-social? Only time will tell. Right now, I'm just enjoying her babyhood.

It's late and I'm up, so....

I thought I'd start blogging. That makes no sense, but like I said, it's late. Anyway, this is me, my husband, and our daughter. You'll learn more about us later. I don't have many recent pictures. At least, not by myself. But that's what happens when you have kids. It's not about you...EVER AGAIN...

I'm in the midst of a job search, albeit a weak one. I really have to go back to school and get my degree. I'm about 7 classes away from my finance degree. Truth be told, I hate school, but it's very necessary. I've always been smart, but I hate studying with a passion. College, I found out quickly, wasn't like high school. College separates the haves from the have-nots. Either you have the discipline or you don't. Live and learn.