What it means to be ComfortablyCrazy

Haute Maternity

This post is from my sister-in-law, CC, from Comfortably Crazy. Thank you, CC!

The house is clean—well, mostly—the kids are in bed, and I’m not completely dog-tired.

Instead of working on my aprons, knitting, or reading one of the many books I’m halfway through, I sit here writing this in my journal (because I don’t feel like typing right now), and listening-to-but-not-really-watching the fourth Harry Potter movie yet again.

I know for many people, especially parents, that by the time you have time to do something, you don’t wanna. I hate that. I hate not having the energy to get things done. Having 501 unfinished projects from switching rooms (we do that a lot in our family) to doing my nails.

If you know me, you’re probably sitting in your chair reading this, nodding your head. I am probably the most organized messy person you would ever meet. On any given day if you dropped by my house, you’re guaranteed to find dirty laundry on the floor, possibly in the kitchen; dirty dishes in the sink; stacks of mail to file, or shove in a box or bag; piles of books to read; a jumble of shoes by the piano; and two kids either getting ready to kill each other or getting along reasonably well, depending on the phases of the moon. If you looked at my desk it would likely be covered with a myriad of crap. This is how I live.

Now, please don’t be afraid to stop by for a visit. With just an hour’s notice (or two, pretty please?) I can pull off a small miracle of cleaning and straightening. So just let me know if you’d like to come by sometime, okay?

I know you’re wondering where the “organized” part comes in, so I’ll tell you. If you were to walk into my kids’ rooms you’d see labels on the dressers along with bins for blocks, dolls, balls, dress-up clothes, shoes and various other toys. This is a good and bad thing. Kids like to just put stuff away; I like to put stuff away right. Most times my idea of right and their idea of right are nowhere in the same galaxy.

If you were to look on my computer you’d find documents listing my CDs and DVDs. You can browse CDs by title, genre, or artist; DVDs by genre or title, kid-safe or adult. (I mean “adult” as in Terminator or Resident Evil, not “adult” as in “ducking into a dark alley and buying something I wouldn’t want my neighbors to know about.”) They are all listed and shelved alphabetically. The CDs are numbered and coordinate with the numbers on the player.

At this point, you’re probably wondering why, if I can keep my kids’ rooms, CDs, and DVDs so organized, I cannot keep my entire house this way. It’s pretty simple really. I get distracted, I get sick, or I just plain get lazy.

I do enjoy having a clean house, but honestly, sometimes it stresses me out. Having a perfectly clean house is not comfortable. I’d much prefer to have things tidy than perfect. I’d rather have someone be comfortable with their kid dumping one (or five) bins of blocks on the floor than have them worrying about their kid making a mess.

I know people can have perfectly-kept houses and be happy. I’m just not one of them. I’ve heard of FlyLady, and I’m really not interested. I have to be accountable to me and only me. In that way I am selfish.

That’s how I’m trying to live my life, too. I’m trying to downsize and get rid of things we don’t need. Sometimes this means getting rid of stuff I do not want or need, even if I’ve had it less than a year or it was a birthday or wedding gift. Sometimes, this means buying something newer to make things fit better. There are things I will not get rid of, like my Barbies, my kids’ outgrown clothes, the porta-crib, and the two highchairs. But that’s my choice.

I think I’m finally at a point in my life where I’m comfortable with who I am. I may be overweight, but my kids and husband actually seem to like me this way. I could get down to 136 and be happy. I’d be happier at 126, or even better, 120. So why don’t I lose the weight? Because I know how to dress my body.

At 5’1″ and 156 pounds, I wear a size 14 Short Levis. I wear a large or extra-large maternity shirt. Yes, I just said I wear maternity shirts though I am not pregnant and will never be pregnant again without medical intervention or a miracle.

I’ve been saying for the last year that I should go to Motherhood Maternity to buy my shirts but never did it. Buying the first maternity shirt was accidental. I picked a shirt up at Ross that was just stuck in with the pants. It was cute, so I tried it on and fell in love. Only after buying it and wearing it did I look at the tag to see the label: Haute Maternity.

Now I’m convinced. I will do my shirt shopping in the maternity section, and when they ask when I’m due, I’ll smile sweetly and say, “November 2002.”

If you would like to guest post on this website, please email me (SAJ). I will be posting guest posts from now until September 15th.

the dentist and the dumb a…

dental wear

This post is from professional author, Shauna Glenn. Thank you, Shauna!

about 3 weeks ago i got a popcorn kernel stuck in my tooth. i picked and flossed and picked some more until i was sure it was out. after a day or two, my gums swelled and my tooth hurt. fast forward to now, and i’m still reeling from the pain.

so yesterday i went to the dentist. you may not know this about me, but i’d rather poke myself in the eye with a hot fork than go sit in a dentist’s chair and have him come at me with sharp objects for purposes of scraping old food bits out of my teeth. my back teeth are especially sensitive (much like my personality) and i find that i spend most of my time clenching, gripping, grimacing, and convulsing. and that’s just in the waiting room.

i meant to get a zanax from a family member before i went yesterday, but because i didn’t put it on my calendar, forgot about it until i was driving to the dentist’s office. too late. i was going to have to go sober.

i was called back to the dreaded chair where the assistant proceeded to fasten me in and drape me in the nice blue paper bib. ok, i wasn’t ‘fastened’ in the chair, but maybe i should’ve been.

she asks me what my problem was and i began telling her, “i don’t know, i just seem to piss people off easily. i’m way too big for my britches and i tend to speak without filtering what comes into my head. oh, and i’m an incredible smart aleck–i blame my dad–but mostly, i just want to be loved.”

the assistant has a totally confused and somewhat frightened look on her face and says, “um, i meant with your tooth.”


embarrassed, but not really (point proven about the non-filtering thing above), i explained about the whole ‘popcorn kernel’ incident. she told me to open my mouth and then i swear she gasped.

“what? what is it?” i asked.

she said, “it’s nothing. i’ll get the doctor.”

a few seconds later, the dentist appeared and panic set in with me. he had that look in his eye. the one that said, “i am SO gonna poke you in the mouth with very sharp objects and i am going to LIKE IT!”

he put on blue rubber gloves and sat down next to me. “open your mouth,” he instructed, and reluctantly i did. over the next few minutes he made a lot of “uh-huh” sounds and rattled off gibberish that i assumed was dentist speak for ‘what the hell happened in here?’ she scribbled notes in my chart and i felt sure they were judging me.

and all of this was before the dentist even put anything in my mouth. i had warned him as he approached the chair that i am highly sensitive to anything related to dental equipment. so he heeded my warning and promised me he would just “take a peek.”

after assessing the infected area, he thought it best to numb the area so i wouldn’t feel him digging around in there. he was worried there was still food stuck in between two of my teeth. i told him if he found any to save it. there was no sense in wasting perfectly good food. i don’t think he appreciated my sense of humor because the next thing i knew, he was coming at me with a needle.

as he was jabbing me in the gum with novacaine he asked, “so, how’s your summer?”

point to ponder: why do dentist’s ask you questions when they have both their fists and a couple of metal tools in your mouth? i’ve never quiet understood the logic behind that.

so i answered, “ahhaa haa ahaaha.”

“is that right?” he said.

and then he said, “all right. let’s wait for that area to get numb and then we’ll take a good look.” he and the assistant left the room and i sat there, waiting for 1/2 of my face to fall asleep. after a few minutes they returned and the dentist sat down again and asked me to open my mouth. it wasn’t so easy this time. i had no control over the left side of my face. i was like a stroke victim. it was weird.

but the good news was i didn’t feel a thing. at one point i think he even released a hound in my mouth to go and retrieve any lost or left behind food.

when he finished, he told me to apply some topical antibiotic to the swollen gum, keep the area clean, and don’t brush too hard. i made mental notes of his instructions. he wanted to take an x-ray of the tooth just to make sure he wasn’t missing anything. ok, i thought. it’s not like i don’t have anything else to do. i’ve been here over an hour, but you want to keep me longer? alrighty then, my pleasure.

i had to pee. i’d been holding it ever since i arrived and now i couldn’t hold it any longer. i pushed the tray out of the way and started to get up when the assistant came back and said, “time for your x-ray.” defeated, i sat back in my chair and willed my bladder to hold on a few more minutes. then the assistant came at me with a 3″ x 3″ piece of square film and proceeded to cram it into my smaller than 3″ x 3″ round mouth. my gag reflexes kicked in and suddenly i thought, “they won’t have to worry about me peeing in this chair because i will be hurling all over their equipment!” she coached me, “breathe through your nose, breathe through your nose.” and i was like “how do i do that?” panic set in again and i thought for sure i was going to pass out. why hadn’t i taken the time to get that zanax! help me jesus! help me oprah! help me tom cruise!

then she instructed, “hold still, almost done.” and then she snapped the picture and i spit the film out and she caught it before it flew up and hit the overhead light.

please let me go. just pull the tooth and let me go! i’ve got plenty more teeth, but this–i can’t take this any longer! AND I’VE GOT TO PEE!

when she left the room again, i decided it was time to go. i didn’t need to know what the x-ray showed, i can’t read x-rays. it would just look like albino cockroaches standing in a line to me. i made my way to the bathroom and locked the door. i assumed the position and aaahhhhh. pee, glorious pee.

after i was finished, i came out of the bathroom to find the dentist and the assistant waiting for me. he let me know my tooth would be fine and for me to enjoy the rest of my summer. whatever dude, i’m outta here.

i paid the bill, put on my sunglasses and headed out the door. i’d survived going to the dentist. i mean granted, i couldn’t smile because half my face was paralyzed, but it was going to be a GREAT day. everyone i passed on the way to my car smiled at me and i tried my best to not look like i’d suffered a stroke. once inside my car, i started the engine, cranked up the radio–kiss’s lick it up was playing–and i began singing at the top of my lungs. still, not easy to do when only half your mouth works, but whatever. then i reached across to put on my seat belt and that’s when i noticed i was still wearing the paper bib.

loser? or trendsetter?

If you would like to guest post on this website, please email me (SAJ). I will be posting guest posts from now until September 15th.