No, not really – but I’m starting to feel like I should!

Here’s my Vent Of The Day. Oldest child didn’t get up on time. The excuse is always the same, “I set my alarm, but for some reason, it didn’t go off!” I sympathize with her, for real. I have no idea why they make high school start at the crack of dawn. Elementary-aged kids have such an easier time getting up when it’s still dark – they should have elementary school start early and high school start later. But they don’t. Anyway. She didn’t get up on time. So instead of rushing around and heading out the door and hightailing it to school, she got dressed and then sat on the couch and pouted.

Um, yeah. I don’t understand this problem solving approach, either. Eventually, I realized she was sitting on the couch and asked her what was up. She didn’t have an answer for me as to why she hadn’t left yet, beyond, “I don’t know!” She somehow had herself convinced that if I didn’t call the school and excuse her immediately, that they wouldn’t even allow her into the classroom. Like they would just shut the door in her face. Like they would prefer that she miss an ENTIRE 99-minute class, rather than just miss the first 25 minutes.

This required my husband actually driving her to school and walking her into the front office, where we could get some clarification on the tardy policy. He called me up on his way to work and said, “GUESS WHAT, babe. You won’t believe this. But they’ll actually LET HER INTO CLASS even if she’s late.” I know! I was stunned, too. (Not really.)

Tomorrow begins finals, at 7 in the morning. Tonight, I’m putting about three more alarm clocks in her room!

Well, you know what they say about a picture being worth a thousand words. I could probably just post the picture and leave it at that. But no, that just won’t do – not for long-winded ME!

My oldest child is driving me to drink. And I’m seriously on the fence, teetering between “she’s a teenager; she’s supposed to be apathetic, dishonest, overly dramatic, and hate school” and “how in the hell will she ever function in society OMG she’s going to be living here when she’s 30 years old and end up working at Del Taco.”

It’s a tough road we’re on right now. Without overstepping the boundaries of privacy too much, I’ll simply state that she’s been struggling with some depression. I recognize it. I understand it. Hell, I LIVE it. I know exactly what it’s like. And I’ve told her that. The thing is, you can’t rely on the excuse of depression as a free pass for getting out of everything you don’t want to do. Like, homework. I know she doesn’t care about school, and I get that. School is a big fat drag when you’re fourteen. And how often do you really use algebra once you’re out of school? I fully recognize that she is only there for the social aspect. But I just can’t make her GET IT that she still has to DO THE WORK. It’s that whole fake-it-till-you-make-it thing. You might not care about it, but you still have to DO it. Even if you struggle with depression, you still have to fulfill certain responsibilities. That’s life, y’know?

Ugh. It’s nice that I have my husband to talk me down from the ledge. He’s already raised two teenagers, and he’s sooooo easygoing about all of this. I know that there are plenty of folks out there who didn’t give a shit about high school, and they aren’t homeless or anything like that as adults. But still, it’s so completely frustrating when I can’t find ANY passion in my child whatsoever. She’s looking forward to seeing her friends at lunch tomorrow, and she’s happy to know that she’s not going to die in the near future. And that’s IT. There is nothing else that she cares about. Nothing. It just feels beyond the normal teenage bullshit to me. And like I said, I’m wavering. Part of me is scared to death for my child, and worried about her future and completely stressed about her mental wellbeing. The other part of me is like, “Eh.” Almost everyone I know with a kid in high school is telling me a similar tale. Her issues are just not that unique, really.

I’m praying hard that she straightens out and realizes that life is awesome and that there is true joy to be found in it. I know being a teenager sucks. I remember. I’m banking on the notion that by the time my other four kids are teens and putting me through hell, my oldest will be well-adjusted and content with her life, so she can help knock some sense into her siblings. I think that’s my only hope. And maybe in years to come, I’ll mellow out a bit, too.

Is that show Clean Sweep still on? I haven’t seen it in a looooong time, if it is. I think the Clean Sweep people need to come and visit my husband. I can’t understand how we had a MASSIVE, ginormous, insane garage sale when we moved, and another garage sale in the springtime, and Salvation Army came and picked up a bunch of stuff in my driveway a few months ago, and still…STILL, I am drowning in a sea of clutter. We have a stack of boxes in our master bedroom that hasn’t moved much over the past twelve months. These boxes drive me insane. Several times, I’ve tried to go through them, and it’s just too overwhelming. We discussed tackling this mess during the eleven days my husband was off work for the holidays, but it just didn’t happen. Either I was sick or the kids were sick, and it didn’t happen. We didn’t take the kids to that chipmunk movie, either. Damn!

But today is a new day. It’s Monday, and it’s back to work for the man and back to school for the oldest. The little ones are still home with me for a bit longer, but they’re obsessed with Nick Jr online lately, so I could probably paint the entire house without them noticing. I decided that today would be the day. So, armed with coffee and motivation, I started opening boxes. Out of the probably dozen or so boxes, I unpacked two. The rest, I labeled with sticky notes so my husband can see at a glance what’s inside – but I can summarize it for you in two words: HIS SHIT.

I’m stunned by how many boxes and boxes of MAGAZINES we moved. What is it with men and magazines? What is the purpose of keeping years and years worth of Popular Mechanics and Playboy? Will he ever look at them again? I can pretty much guarantee that the answer is NO. But they’ll be our legacy, mark my words. We may not have much to pass on to our children, but they’ll never want for mediocre porn or outdated tech articles. And if they get tired of reading old magazines, they can listen to an entire crate of mix tapes from the 80s! Maybe they’ll stumble upon some old relic computer from our generation and they can install tons of outdated software on it – I have an entire box of it, just waiting for them. And for some light reading, they can kick back with stacks of college textbooks.

Spring cleaning is here – and now that I’ve gotten the ball rolling, I’m certain that my husband will be ready to dive into this cache of crap, and do something with it all. I just know it! In the meantime, I need to figure out what to do with a king size memory foam mattress topper, now that we have a new bed that it won’t fit on. It’s rolled up and pushed in the corner of the room like a gigantic Chipotle burrito, but it’s really got to go!

Today marks a year that we’ve lived in our “new” house. I’ve decided that I should officially stop calling it our new house, hence the quotation marks. I’m fighting an awful cold, as are a couple of my children, and we spent much of today on the sofa. As I flipped through the channels, I kept thinking back to a year ago, and contrasting what a different day today was than last December 27th! Four huge truckloads of stuff, and the last one wasn’t unloaded until nearly midnight. The kids were on Christmas break, and the weeks that followed were downright chaotic. It’s hard having bored kids underfoot while trying to unpack. It was nice to look around my cozy house today – even littered with new toys from Christmas, it’s a much different scene than it was a year ago.

Two thousand and nine was a tough year in a lot of ways. It was such a year of change for our family, with the new house and new schools. Even when change is for the better, it’s so difficult to go through it. And unfortunately for myself, I spent much of the year feeling like I wasn’t changing for the better. So many times, I felt like I couldn’t find my way. I wanted our house to instantly feel like home to me, to feel like the sanctuary our old home was, and to feel uniquely ours, the way our old home did. Of course, that can’t happen immediately – it takes time to make something your own. It takes time for people to get to know you. It takes time for children to stop being “the new kids” at school. And it takes a hell of a lot of time to go through a house and put your own special touch in every room.

I should point out that I am not an organized person by nature. (My husband is, thank God, or our lives would be falling down around us.) Between my messy tendencies and my unfortunate propensity for feeling guilty about my many flaws, I dealt with a massive amount of anxiety this past year. It’s only been in recent weeks that I’ve started recognizing the role depression has played in my inability to get shit done. Last year, right around this time, I stopped taking the antidepressant I’d been taking for years. I was going through a period of health concerns and serious headaches, and I was trying to pinpoint exactly what was causing my headaches. I decided to wean myself off the antidepressants to see if my headaches went away. They did! And I seemed to be doing okay, so I never refilled my prescription after our move.

I’m realizing now that I made such a dumb decision in doing that. For me, depression manifests itself not in sadness, but in anxiety and in feelings of being so overwhelmed that I can’t figure out how to tackle a situation. And I don’t really understand why it’s so hard to take my own advice – I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve told girlfriends of mine not to be afraid or ashamed to take antidepressants, because depression doesn’t just go away on its own. When it comes to my own health or my own psyche, it’s like I’m a total dumbass, though.

That’s one thing I intend to do differently in 2010. I work so hard to take care of my family, but think nothing of putting myself last – like I just don’t have it in me to think about my own needs. I heard someone recently compare it to putting on your own oxygen mask on an airplane before helping someone else. How can I really be supermom if I super-suck at taking care of myself? I started taking my meds again a few weeks ago, and already I’m feeling better. Now if I could just shake this stupid cold!

One of the things I really love about my husband is how I always feel safe with him. He’s a big dude, and can be intimidating if he wants to be. It’s like the best of both worlds, really: he’s such a super nice guy, and people so often seem relieved to discover that he’s not some aggressive badass, they fall all over themselves being accommodating. I love that we can go anywhere, any time, and nobody EVER gives us a hard time or talks shit to him. It’s downright delightful.

And I feel like sort of an authority on being messed with, because I used to be married to a guy who was NOT the least bit intimidating. He was a fairly small guy, not the least bit confrontational, and people obviously picked up on that vibe, because they messed with us all the time! So often, we’d be at a show or a bar or restaurant, and some drunk asshole would start hassling us. And it was always ME having to resolve the situation. I hated that! I’m very pleased that I’ve left behind that whole phase of my life. What can I say: I like my man to be the man, y’know?

Today, I was having lunch out with my daughters and I overheard a couple of guys a table away from us. They were 30ish, dressed business casual, and totally engaged in their conversation about…TWILIGHT. They were talking about seeing New Moon over the weekend with their wives, and actually discussing the differences between the book and the movie. It was like listening to my teenage daughter and her best friend going on about who is hotter, Jacob or Edward.

I can understand guys going to see Twilight with their wives; I drag my husband to see movies I pick out all the time. But if he started talking about Twilight with his buddies, they’d probably threaten to punch him in the vagina. Come on, guys – we let you have Transformers. Leave Twilight for the girls!