self - hooey!critic

Blue Pill, Red Pill

January 4, 2011 by Neena 7 Comments

I’ve been thinking quite a bit lately about the concept of red pill-blue pill. This idea first appeared in The Matrix and quickly became a metaphor for choice. I haven’t actually seen the film; it really isn’t the type of movie I tend to watch. But, I had heard the terms red pill-blue pill tossed around quite a bit.

The idea behind the blue pill is that you remain oblivious, ignorant to truth. It implies a sense of contentment with what is – mostly because there is no concept of any other world, idea or belief.

The Red Pill represents an acceptance of reality, an awareness of truth and beliefs that were blocked and unrecognized for whatever reason. It implies a breakaway from what has been comfortable to an acceptance of what might be otherwise.

When the metaphor is presented it comes with a choice. Red pill or Blue pill? Which do you choose?

While this whole idea can be applied to a variety of situations I’ve felt a pull to examine it in terms of how I view myself, specifically my self-image and esteem. What prompted this whole reflection was a private resolution I made with myself for this year.

I want to learn to love myself more.

There. I said it. Out loud.

I’ve always struggled with self esteem issues. Maybe it traces back to third grade and being the only girl with her period and a full-on, grown up bra. There was no training in my transition to adolescence. It came full force at a young age and just kept on going.

Maybe it was the curly hair, extra weight, and acne I battled in middle school. I can still picture the boy that first uttered the words ‘pizza face!’ to me at school. Asshole.

Maybe it was the fact that I never really dated in high school. While I was known as the girl with the huge boobs, it wasn’t enough to get asked out. I never had a date to the prom. I sat home that night – pathetic, alone, and thinking that something must be wrong with me.

Maybe it was the scars leftover from a breast reduction at the age of 26 or a hysterectomy at the age of 29. Maybe it’s the extra baby weight that has become part of me since 2004.

Maybe it’s just who I am. My blue pill.

I live in this illusion that somehow I’ve escaped whatever it is that society defines as beautiful. I don’t have it. For years I believed that I couldn’t change that perception. I’m not sure I can now.

But I want to try.

I want to reject this illusion that I am not beautiful and face the reality that, maybe just maybe, I am. I think it’s time to embrace a feeling of confidence in my whole person – flaws, curves, stretch marks and all. I want to learn to love what God gave me instead of focusing on what it is about me that differs from the pictures within the magazines on my table.

I want to feel sexy. I want to feel graceful. I want to feel beautiful inside and out. I want to feel like I am not defined by the size on the label inside my jeans.

For once I want to try the red pill and just see if, maybe, there is a beautiful girl waiting that is in no way an illusion…

but a real, breathing, fully whole person who is incredible just as she is.

It scares me.

Filed Under: reflections, self

paranormal stuff

November 15, 2010 by Neena 4 Comments

I feel the need to admit something. I have terrible TV habits.

Not only do I have terrible TV habits, but I spend quite a bit time watching a variety of paranormal television shows.

There I said it.

See, it really isn’t so bad that I actually watch them – it’s what happens during and after I watch them that makes me, well, a dork.

I was watching a paranormal marathon this evening while I was folding laundry. The lights were on, hubby was helping, and the kids were running around. Nothing unusual…until I went to tuck our youngest into bed.

We were laying in her bed saying our prayers and the lights were off. Hubby came into the room and shut the door. Suddenly the room was uber dark and there was this shadow figure walking around with a glow-in-the-dark watch. I was all Oh my God! What are you doing? Don’t shut the door – you’re totally creeping me out and it’s all scary now and find the light switch already!

He just left the room shaking his head at his paranoid wife. I later found out that he just shut the door to try to keep the cats from running in there.

Next time announce that, m’kay! That way I’ll refrain from crapping my pants!

But it doesn’t stop there. I watch these stupid shows when I’m trying to fall asleep. Then I wonder if my house is haunted or if that was a shadow in the bathroom mirror or if my cat senses something I don’t. I get all scared and I can’t get up and pee until Hubby comes into the room and turns the lights on for me. I’ve actually sent him instant messages over the computer from the other room instructing him to come turn the lights on because I’m scared.

Dork, right?

Why do I do this to myself!? Watch this crap and then get too scared to get up and urinate!? Man, it’s like the Unsolved Mysteries theme song all over again!

I suppose I could just quit watching these horrible shows, but my TV habits would seem so empty – as would my bladder, I suppose.

That might be preferable to crapping my pants during bedtime prayers.

Filed Under: dork, self

Once upon a time there was a girl that felt good about herself.

March 30, 2010 by Neena 13 Comments

I’ve never been the girl with great self-esteem. I’ve never really exuded confidence in my looks or abilities.

Except in one area.

School.

I’ve always been good at school. I like the studying, the time management required, and the ability to organize, color-code, hole punch, label, and clean edge my way to a perfectly created backpack.

Weird, I know. But, a trip to the office supply store and an afternoon of studying is enough to get me all hot and bothered! Add the smell of new books to the mix and I may very well get arrested for doing something I’m not supposed to in public!

But, I digress.

I’m good at school and it’s the one area where I feel a sense of confidence in my abilities and how I carry myself.

But, what happens when others poke fun at the one thing you feel good about?

I’ve been experiencing that lately. My Type A-ness has been the butt of many jokes.

I was working on a statistics project lately when I attempted to inform my group members of my progress only to have them laugh and joke about the fact that I was working on something not due for many, many weeks. Here’s what you do: you joke with the Type A group member and tell them they didn’t do much on the first project and watch them do all the work on the next ones!

Yes, that was actually said in my presence.

I came to a meeting recently with a folder of information to present on my plans for a term presentation only to be ridiculed for essentially being a goody-goody.

I asked a question about the length of a couple articles only to hear oh, I forgot that someone actually does the readings.

I spent my weekend stressing attempting to finish an essay for one of my classes. My husband was completely on board to help me, tend the babies, or whatever I needed so I could get it done – until he realized it isn’t due until April 14.

Then he laughed at his weird, crazy, obsessed wife.

Now, I have my reasons for wanting to work ahead and get things off my to-do list. Sometimes it’s the fact that I have 3 kids and waiting until the last minute is not an option. Sometimes it’s me planning ahead and trying to tackle several things so I can give a future project my full attention.

My organization and working style might be amusing to others, but when did it become such a joke? Why is it such a joke? Do others even realize the damage they are causing by constantly ripping off the band-aid before the previous wound has had time to heal?

I’m sure it’s partly my fault because I never say anything – confrontation is not my strong suit either. Maybe I’m just an easy target.

But, lately the one thing I usually feel pretty good about is becoming a weight, a tear in my heart. Sure, to others I’m probably overreaching. Just tell them to shove it! Yea, not that easy.

The one bit of true confidence I had in myself is deflating – quickly. And, I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t expect others to change how they do things to accommodate my work style, but is there really a need to constantly make fun? Occasional joking is one thing – this not occasional and it doesn’t feel like joking anymore.

I’m not sure what I expect to be fixed by spewing this here. All I know is I’ve lost quite a bit of sleep lately struggling to understand why my good traits are suddenly worth attacking – especially by adults that should honestly know better.

Now, if you’ll excuse me I must go attend to the 47 pimples that have recently appeared on my face. Maybe they’re from stress or worry. Either way they’re not helping my plight!

Filed Under: confidence, school, self

I really should learn to look in the mirror before leaving the house

January 29, 2010 by Neena 9 Comments

As I was rushing out the door the other morning to take my son to preschool I got a call from my daughter’s school. Apparently she was having severe pain in her ear and needed to be picked up. I swung by to pick her up before my son’s carpool. While waiting to drop off my son I called the pediatrician and managed to score an appointment for just after carpool.

Huzzah for close proximity!

Anyway, I arrived at the doctor, went through the check-in process, and was escorted back to a room where we began to wait.

And wait.

The baby was beginning to get restless. My oldest was in full-on anxiety mode thinking she was destined for a shot. And me? Well, I was the mother of the year that forgot snacks and any other possible form of entertainment.

But, I put on those PhD smarts and used my iPhone to pull up a Caillou video to entertain them.

Huzzah for a non dead phone battery!

The doctor arrived, checked out my kid, diagnosed an ear infection, sinus infection, and wheezing in the chest.

I’d like her to do a breathing treating before sending you to a completely different building to check in and wait for a chest x-ray.

Um, okay. Sure.

After about 30 more minutes we headed down to get the x-ray where we ended up waiting.

And waiting.

The gentleman behind the counter was kind enough to give the girls some stickers to play with since, again, I brought nothing. Charlotte, being the friendly two year old, took the backing off her Sponge Bob sticker, walked over to an old man sitting in a nearby chair, and smack that sucker square on his crotch!

In a fit of embarrassment I apologized, pulled her away, and did that mother whisper scold.

Honey, no no! You can’t do that. That’s not nice. Now, please for the love of all that is holy, just sit down for mommy, okay!? I’ll give you a pony and ice cream and candy as soon as we get home.

She pulled away from me, looked me square in the face, and farted louder than any child I’ve ever heard. Everyone began to stare at me. Of course they would.

But it was also at that moment that I realized I was sitting in the waiting room in my pajamas.

That led me to realize that I was also wearing no bra.

And the lack of bra reminded me that there was also a lack of deodorant.

The smell could have been my child’s waiting room farts. Or it could have been the body odor spewing from her mother. I had been in such a hurry to get out the door that I completely forgot to do anything other than wipe away the smeared mascara from under my eyes. And, considering I’m 31, prone to hot flashes, and sweat like a freaking man to begin with, I’m sure I was quite a sight.

OF TERROR!

I’d like to say that we finished up the x-ray quickly and I managed to get home to put myself together. But, the x-ray took so long that I had just enough time to pick up my kid’s prescription before heading back to carpool to get my son.

So, no. I spent the entire morning running around in my jammies with my boobies flopping around and the smell of road kill emitting from my armpits.

When I did finally return home I realized I was out of deodorant and would have to get by with a rub or two of Hubby’s Old Spice.

Then I spent the rest of the day in my jammies with my boobies flopping around and the smell of Pacific Surge emitting from my armpits.

Man, I’m classy.

Filed Under: daily grind, hygiene, motherhood, self

My thinking: being a drug addict? not all bad!

January 19, 2010 by Neena 2 Comments

So I went to the doctor last week to get something to help with my horrible chest congestion and generally icky-ness. She sent me away with a nifty antibiotic and some sort of anti-inflammatory steroid. I was worried about taking the steroid because i was afraid it would make me tired.

I’m a mother. I’m tired enough as is. I don’t need any enhancements in that department.

She assured me that it wouldn’t make me tired and, in fact, swore that I would start to have some energy.

Now, I know I tend to be a bit dramatic, but can I just say…

I want to marry this woman.

I want to live with her forever, steal her prescription pad, and give myself steroids every single day forever and ever and ever.

I’m not one that really understands medicine, I don’t know the ins and outs of science, and I’m not sure how I feel about better living through chemistry.

All I know is that since last Thursday I have had more energy than I know what to do with. I have not had this much energy since before I had kids – over 5 years ago! I’ve had more ‘get up and go.’ I haven’t felt like napping, I’m more productive, and I’m even sleeping better at night!

All from a little pill?

It’s also kind of scary to realize I’ve been living so long without energy and didn’t even realize it could be any different.

I’m not a drug addict, but I could play one on this blog.

Oh, energy. How I’ve missed you. And, how I’ll miss you when you and your empty steroid pack go…

Filed Under: self, sickness

Self Portrait

July 30, 2009 by Neena 6 Comments

** I feel like I need to preface this post with a simple warning: I’m a Dork **

I received an email the other day from the one of my upcoming professors. He was welcoming all new Graduate students to the program and welcoming back those that are returning to their studies. He explained in the email that he needed all new PhD candidates to submit a short, 100 word bio and a photo to be used on a department bulletin board. Those that were part of the program last year were allowed to update their bios or photos, but this was mostly for the humiliation of the rookies.

Now, it’s pretty clear from the files on my computer that I’m not a fan of the camera. Sure, I love taking pictures of everyone else, but I tend to hide when the lens is pointed on me. After all, the camera clearly adds 10 pounds and there have secretly been 4 of them pointed at me for the last year or so. Yes, that’s exactly why I look so big. It’s all the camera’s fault.

Anyway.

I looked through the few photos I did have, but didn’t really think any of them would work. I was going for a I’m cool and smart and not at all too old to be on campus and you totally want to be my friend and hang out with me between classes and suck in my wisdom and charm. The solution? Let’s spend the morning taking pictures of myself with the clever Photo Booth on MacBook. I’m bound to get a good one that way, right!?

I can feel you wanting to suck in all this wisdom…

It started with a straight on pose with a peak of a smile.

I moved on to wearing the glasses and pretending as if I’m just glancing serenely at some bird fluttering around our backyard.

There’s the straight-on, no teeth smirk.

Or the head-tilt, thoughtful ‘Oh, how the rainbows glow’ look completed without the glasses.

Here, let’s move away from the camera and go for more of a torso with a smile look. Notice the picture I purposely took off the wall so as to not distract from my pose. The unnaturally straight posture made me feel like my breasts were workin’ it just a bit too much.

A little less creepy posture and some glasses. Classy.

Location change!

Here’s the full-on, ‘In Your Face, But You Want to Like Me ‘Cause I’m Leaning In’ Pose.

Screw real photos! I look better in cartoon anyway!

But, when all was said and done, I chose this one.

Glad I gave you the warning, huh!?

Shut up.

Filed Under: photos, self

Just me.

January 15, 2009 by Neena 9 Comments

This is me first thing in the morning. No cover up. No Coffee.

Strip away my frivolous armor and I look like this.

It isn’t pretty and it isn’t glamorous. It’s just me.

We judge and we pick at other women and their ‘mommy look.’ We comment on hair, clothes, weight, and attitude. We judge their style of parenting and how they choose to co-sleep or cry it out. We claim others are selfish while secretly wanting for ourselves what they take time to do.

We are mean.

And I don’t know why.

Judging my weight or my dark circles doesn’t take away my ability to be a great mom. My stretchmarks and roundness in the middle only remind me what I gave my body the chance to do and do well.

Sure, I look tired. But, I wear that with pride knowing that the exhaustion comes from giving my children all that I could. That is the job and life I chose. The hair is crazy and disheveled, but my family still thinks I’m beautiful for reasons that have nothing to do with looks.

I’m not 18 anymore. My face and style have adapted to this life that I lead now. I’m sure the day will come when I take on different roles that will leave me uncomfortable with being so exposed.

But that day is not today.

Today I’m just me. No hiding. No faking.

Just me.

Tomorrow I may be seen with makeup or a clean shirt or hair that met a flat iron. But, I’ll ask myself if I did it for ‘me’ because it is how I want to look and feel. Or, did I do it because I’ve fallen victim to the pressure of fitting in to the mommy mold.

I don’t know.

But, for today and for this moment I’m comfortable.

Filed Under: self

I think I’d rather be fat

October 14, 2008 by Neena 6 Comments

Today I stopped the excuses and made my fat ass go to the walking park. It’s not like I should have been making excuses in the first place. The park is directly across the street from my son’s preschool. Since he and his older are in school I only have to push one gigantic baby as opposed to three. It’s not uber-hot so I can’t blame hot flashes and my cell actually gets coverage over there so I can’t use the possibility of maybe the school needs me as an excuse either. So I did it.

I popped the baby in the stroller and attached my pedometer to my waist because who cares how many miles you walk – I wanted to know how many steps, baby! I busted out my iPod and began jamming to Billy Joel, Iko Iko, and others I’d be embarrassed to share. I trotted down the trail at some weird uber-speed unaware until about half way through the 2.2 mile trail that I was sorta dancing as I pushed the stroller. Now, for a white gal with no rhythm and no booty, I now understand why none of the other walkers but the old men even smiled my way. Apparently it isn’t trail walking etiquette to bust a move. But, whatever!

I finished the trail a bit proud of myself even though I was sweating gallons compared to that skinny running bitch that lapped me twice. I could still chug my midget bottle of water with a sense of accomplishment. I loaded the baby back in her car seat and my phone immediately rang. I realized now that I answered it and must have sounded like I was smack dab in the middle of the throws of something passionate. No luck. It was just the out of breath sounds of the fat chick that danced-walked the local park trail. Sexy, huh. I realized at that moment, too, that my hair had become a half wet, frizzy, semi pulled up in a bad clip creation that resembled Flock of Seagulls after an unfortunate incident with a light socket. So, what did I do? I went to WalMart – where else!?

I headed there to pick up a video, the other part of hubby’s birthday present. It was some Indiana Jones and the Attack of the Clone Skull or something. Who cares! I’ll be basking in the joy of a glass of wine and a bubble bath to help my aching legs as he testosterones up the living room with that one. I also picked up some lettuce and came home. I didn’t realize until I got home that the front of my legs are really sore and it only feels comfortable when I walk like I’m marching in the band. Not a pretty sight either!

So, I think I’ll be taking tomorrow off from the walking park.

And, that is no excuse! It’s the freakin’ truth!

Filed Under: self, walking, weight

Who I was is no longer who I am

October 9, 2008 by Neena 6 Comments

I recently had one of those ‘Holy Crap! This is your life” moments. It was one of those split second, middle of the day realizations that scares you and makes you proud all at the same time. It plops you down completely in the moment, demands nothing but acceptance, and maybe after I throw up and take an anxiety pill, I’ll pull it together and move on with a new sense of self.

The puppy is gone. Okay, Literal Dan. I hear ya. Laugh it up, Chuckles. But, let me explain because I’m having a moment here and these deep realizations don’t come along everyday.

When I was in college I was the animal lady. I was the poor girl that worked full time, was putting herself through school, and was using her hard earned money to feed the stray cats and buy my dog vet care. I was the lady who didn’t ever want children. I was perfectly content to grow up and be that crazy lady with all the cats. I liked animals. They were comforting, loving, and didn’t really ask for much in return. I took better care of the animals I adopted then I did of myself.

Then I met my husband and I was screwed, both literally and figuratively. Sorry to any of the parents reading this, but its true. I fell in love and had this weird, unexplainable urge to make babies with this man. So we did. Three times. We made these beautiful, smart, and weird babies that have taken over every aspect of our lives. Some animals came along for the ride, others left us for different reasons. But, I continued to try to fill my life with animals. Many, many times.

Then it hit me.

I’m no longer an animal person. Holy crap! When did this happen!? When did I trade my love of animals for these little babies that pull on me, never let me pee with the door closed, and keep me so attached to their every move that I never leave them overnight unless I’m in the hospital birthing another one or having surgery!?

This is not what I expected.

This is not what I pictured happening.

I’m the crazy cat lady. I’m not supposed to be the stay-at-home mom to three kids!

But, I am. This is who I am. I’m not the same poor college girl that rescues every animal she meets. I’m not the same girl that gets attached to the cute, furry little creatures and would rather have them surrounding me than a bunch of weirdo children.

I like the weirdo children.

I have three kids. I drive an SUV and live in the suburbs. I clip coupons, bitch about my unclean house, make play dough for the preschool, and cut sandwiches into the requested shape. I vote republican, tend to my husband’s needs, believe in the possibility of homeschooling, and cook casseroles. Somewhere in the midst of all this Crazy Cat Lady disappeared and left a grownup in her place. This grownup needs to stop pretending that bringing animals into a house is the best idea. This grownup needs to realize that she does not want to spend time cleaning up puppy poo and chewed toys. This grownup needs to appreciate the well trained and small dog she has that is low maintenance and really would prefer to gouge my eyes out than allow me to bring another dog home. This grownup, this mother needs to say goodbye to the girl she used to be and welcome the woman that she is: a messy, controlling, over tired, desperately in need of a vacation, wannabe writer that easily forgets it all when she sees her babies smile.

Crap! That’s enough deep stuff for now. I gotta get out of here. I’m going for a frappuccino!

Filed Under: animals, self

I think it’s fair to say that I’m getting old

August 19, 2008 by Neena 3 Comments

I am starting to believe that I am getting old. I have noticed numerous things lately that make me seem like I’m old. Yes, that same old that I often labeled my parents with is a label that is rapidly attaching itself to me. I will forever remember that I started to notice I was really getting old at the age of 29.

I went shopping with my mother-in-law recently and made a point to tell her how much I detested the new fashion trend that involved buying jeans that look dirty. What is the point!? Why buy clothes that look like they need to be washed??? I’m sure mothers all over the world are hugging their Tide over this one.

I have also noticed that every time hubby and I have gone out lately we’ve been home before 8:00. I remember the days when dates didn’t begin until 8:00. I remember staying out until midnight and enjoying the nightlife with my friends. I couldn’t stay out until midnight if you paid me! What the heck did I even do until midnight before? Oh, wait…nevermind.

I also find myself exhausted and totally ready to fall in to a coma by about 9:00. I really must be old because I have not seen Letterman in years. Is he still on?

I think the kicker to my oldness is the fact that I suffer from sensory overload. Yes, the noises and music are getting louder and I find myself unable to even process a thought. I long for quiet. I long for the calm, quiet of retirement. I long for the peaceful, joyous quiet of an empty nest. I only have, oh, about 18 more years. But, Mamaneena is counting down!

I turn 30 in October and I’ll wave goodbye to my 20′s. I’ll enter a new decade full of exciting and wonderful thing. I look forward to it as long as it is full of clean pants, early dates, decent bedtimes, and no noise.

I think I may have to adjust my expectations.