Judgey McJudgerson

I'm a judger.  I judge.  I can't help it.  I like to think it's human nature but maybe it's my own human fault that drives me to judge others.  Since we've moved to the Jacksonville area I find myself doing it more and more.  One day I sat and watched and judged our pregnant neighbor across the street for smoking.  I judge the neighbors to the right of us for being bad dog owners by letting their dog bark it's head off at 7 in the morning.  Today, I'm judging the neighbors to the left of us for broaching an issue with our fence line in a strange manner.  The wife knocked on our door and prefaced the issue with "I wanted to come over here before my husband did because he won't be as nice about it..."  Before she could even explain what the issue was I had already judged the mystery husband as being an asshole if he couldn't be cordial enough to approach his new neighbors in a respectful manner.

I've since spent the rest of this afternoon missing my friends in Virginia.  We were spoiled, that's for certain.  Marcus and I surrounded ourselves with beautiful people inside and out and today I'm missing them all terribly.

Fernando

It is a gorgeous day on the beach.  The sun is shining as a light breeze caresses the palm trees.  The aqua ocean stretches as far as the eye can see and practically melds into the cloudless sky.  I take a deep breath and lay back in the chaise lounge.  I glance over the top of my sunglasses and see Fernando, the lithe, 20-something, Brazilian underwear model approaching with my pina coloda and bowl of grapes.  "Fernando," I say "Peel my grapes before feeding them to me this time.  I can't stand grape skin."  I close my eyes and relax as Fernando leans over me and one by one peels each grape and pops them in my mouth.  "Fernando, what is that smell?  Why am I smelling peanut butter?  What happened to the coconut oil I asked you to wear?"  I open my eyes expecting to see the lithe, 20-something, Brazilian underwear model named Fernando but instead I see the lithe, almost 2-something toddler Alexandra.  She is covered in peanut butter and jelly and instead of feeding me grapes she is systematically shoving goldfish down my throat.

And scene.

Changes

Please don't call Child Protective Services on me for what I'm about to say.  I can guarantee you that I would never physically harm my children.  I've come to realize that being a parent is loving your child with such intensity that you would die for them yet at the same time you feel like you could kill them at any moment.  In the end someone is dying and more than likely it's you because most of us are sane and wouldn't actually harm our children.  Or, maybe it's a little bit of your previous self that dies every day after having children and therefore less of a literal death.

Take me for instance.  I look in the mirror and wonder where the knock-out blonde from just a few short years ago has gone.  In her place is a brunette (recently dyed) who could care less what she looks like.  In a way it's sort of liberating not feeling like I have to dress to impress and no longer do I feel it necessary to wear a full face of make-up and cute outfit because "you never know who you might run into" when running errands.  If I've even made it into anything that doesn't remotely resemble sweatpants it's a good day.  If I put in my contact lenses it's an even better day.  And if I'm wearing make-up then there must be something really special taking place that day.  If I get to take a shower in the morning as opposed to the evening after the kids have gone to bed then I'm calling it a day because it doesn't get much better than that.  I suppose it's a good thing that my priorities have changed.  There are a few things I don't really miss like drinking my face off every weekend but I have to admit...I miss me.  The me I mentioned above.  The me who did care about what she looked like and wouldn't be caught dead with her glasses on and no make-up in public.  I like to think this is just a phase and as soon as I, and the girls, are more adjusted I'll find myself again.  Until then I'll be the one wearing pajama jeans and glasses at your local Wal-Mart.