Mustard on my mouse and other mindless blather

I was eating a wrap from Subway earlier and unknowingly got mustard all over my mouse. I was mystified all afternoon at how I kept getting mustard on my thumb, and had no clue where it was coming from. At one point I thought to myself that it was like I was bleeding mustard, which was pretty amusing. Good news, though - I am not bleeding any condiments, I am just a sloppy eater. I'm sure everyone has breathed an immense sigh of relief.

I was looking through the updated website for Bella's school the other day and was watching the picture slideshows on each page. I was determined to find Bella's picture - as I told a co-worker, she is too cute not to have her picture there (I will confess to being somewhat biased in that determination). And guess what - her picture is on the website! Cool! I would show it, and am in fact dying to show it, but the creepy factor on that is way high - "Hey, here's a picture of my kid located immediately above the name and address of where she goes to school". No thank you.

I have had a couple of posts floating around in my mind, but no real time to work them out from mind to machine. I've been thinking a lot about Bubba's baptism tomorrow, and how absolutely insane preparations have become. I also wanted to post an open letter to the girlfriend of the guy who lives in the apartment upstairs - they recently had an enormous, drunken, expletive-spewing argument on the sidewalk right outside our patio, their third since we moved in. The name calling, especially the things he said to her, was vicious and not fit for the ears of anyone, much less my six year old daughter. Thanks entirely to this couple and their arguments, I have had to seriously discuss the following topics:

• Respect for other peoples' property (as a result of the girlfriend hitting guy upstair's truck with a big tree limb)
• Hands are for helping, not for hurting (as a result of guy upstairs shoving the girlfriend to make her stop hitting his truck)
• Name calling (as a result of the many expletives they used, many of them the various synonyms not used in or by polite society to describe a woman's private parts)
• Tolerance and diversity (for whatever reason, there is always liberal use of the dreaded N-word in their arguments)
• Alcoholism (a few days after one fight, Bella came to me and asked me "What's a drunk whore, mommy?")
• Respect for yourself (this is self explanatory, I think - no one - man or woman - should ever let someone speak to them the way these two people speak to each other)

Two of the fights have taken place in the parking lot, and those we just tried to ignore. The last one, right outside the house, is when we got involved - we heard the scrabbling noise of someone falling down, all the plants on our patio got knocked around, and someone screamed. Brian went out and asked if everything was OK. The guy responded with more expletives, and said it was none of Brian's business, to which Brian responded that, when the action is happening on our patio, it becomes our business, and for them to take it somewhere else. They moved further into the parking lot - very helpful. I have learned to just take Bella into her room when this happens and we read, or play a game, or anything that will distract her, but the whole situation seems pretty ridiculous. I remember being young and angst-ridden and in what I thought was love, and even getting in some pretty heated arguments, but never anything so volatile. I mean, we are talking about two people in their twenties drunkenly screaming and pushing and throwing things at each other in a parking lot. It's sad.

This morning, my boss informed me that, if I provide him with a head shot and a two-to-four paragraph bio, he will post it on the company website. Wha? I don't have a head shot, and I certainly don't have a bio. I will confess to not having made the best decisions over the course of my life, and while I am not mired down in regret, I don't think my bio would make for good reading. Or at least, not pertinent reading, as I have very little experience and education that pertains to the field I work in (I know, I am constantly astonished that I have this job, as well). So then I wondered what my bio would look like, and immediately had to write it, albeit in a sarcastic, self-deprecating way. Then I realized it was terribly bitter and that I am very, very hard on myself and deleted it. You would have thought it was written by someone that didn't like me very much. Hmmm... you don't need Freud to figure that one out, do you?

I had no clue what I wanted to do with my life, and the one term of college I attended (I use that term loosely - 'attended' suggests my actual presence, which wasn't always the case) just felt like a waste of time and money. I worked full time, at various positions at a beach resort in Alabama, and then briefly for Frederick's of Hollywood (where I became, I kid you not, a certified boobologist - I know, right?), and then at a condominium office for a few years. I was kind of coasting along, just hanging out. I came to a point where I was rather unhappy and turned to prayer, asking for guidance, for some idea of what to do with my life. And then I got pregnant. And I had my Bella, my beautiful, charming firstborn. I was a stay-at-home mom for a few years, then went back to work part-time, then went back to work full-time, and once again found myself facing uncertainty. I wasn't sure what to do - it seemed as though there weren't any more children in my future, so I was pondering: should I go to college? How can I go to college and work full-time and be a parent? And then I got pregnant again, and along came Bubba. So the recurring theme of my life is - every time I wondered about my purpose, about my path, I ended up pregnant.

I love being a mother. I love getting out of the house part-time, too, and (keep this on the hush, if people found out they might not let me complain) I think my job is very interesting. Not what I would want to do for the rest of forever, but it's great for what it is. I think, since I am fortunate enough to be able to have the choice (and I am very fortunate to have the choice, I know), I will focus on motherhood for now. My kids are small, and for the most part, appreciate me being around a lot. When they are older, maybe I can go to school part-time and start working towards a degree in something (yeah, I still don't know what I want to do). Who knows? You can go to college at any age. It's certainly not getting any less expensive, but that's how things roll.

Two years ago, when I first told a dear and much-loved cousin that I had enrolled Bella in catholic school, she said something that I haven't been able to forget: she said that she thought the money I was paying for catholic school would be better spent on educating myself. I want to be the best role model I can be for my daughter, believe me, I do. I don't think that Bella will not go to college because I didn't go to college (or I haven't yet, anyway). I think that, by us paying for her to go to a good school, she will realize that we consider education to be a high priority. I hope that she will look back on her life as a child and and know that 1.) I tried my best to be the best mother I could be, despite my many imperfections, and 2.) I encouraged her to follow her dreams, and that I have loved and will continue to love her wholeheartedly no matter what career path she chooses to follow - whether she is a doctor, or a housewife. Do I want her to go to college? Sure, I would love that. I would be probably be disappointed if she didn't. But that is her choice to make.

Well, I declare that to be enough deep thought for a rainy Saturday afternoon. There is much to be done before the beloved son and heir is baptized tomorrow, and frankly I have done less at work today than I will be doing at home tonight and tomorrow. The lechon (whole roasted pig) is going to be so icky and weird for me - this is my first celebration featuring the dish, and I'm feeling a little squeamish about the whole thing. If you are chiding me, take a look at this photo and then tell me you're ready to pick meat directly off a pig. All I have to say is, if there are leftovers, they are NOT coming to my house. I'm not mocking the the tradition, or the culture, mind you - I'm just saying that, as a picky eater who enjoys sausage but doesn't want to watch it being made, I'm lucky - spoiled rotten, even, by the fact that my pork comes neatly packaged in chop or rib or roast form, with nary a thing to remind me that I'm eating a chunk of a living thing. And that is how I like it.

Good weekend to all!