Confessions of a Blogaholic

I've been doing the single mom thing since November 1 (longer if you consider his absences before that), and I know I have always had a pair of pocket-sized cajones tucked away in my purse somewhere, but recently, I'm watching my femininity wash away to be replaced by this rugged manliness of which I am not a fan.

I started a project a few weeks ago with Terri to paint all the blonde stained trim and doors in my house white. She and I managed the entire downstairs in two days, but last weekend, I decided to tackle the upstairs myself. On day 1, I went to Lowe's...alone (way too manly issue #1). I had to buy more primer and paint trays. The fact that I knew what kind of primer (Terri and I had gotten a lesson from the Lowe's guy the week before) without having to ask = too manly #2, and the fact that I knew where to go in the store = too manly #3. To start the upstairs project, I took all the doors off and carried them downstairs to the garage (#4), where I then rolled them with primer. I taped off the trim upstairs and painted it with primer as well. Terri and kory helped me bring the doors back up that week (because I couldn't hold them and put them back on myself, which I think lets me slide back down the manly scale a bit).

Today, though, was THE WORST. I had to MOW THE GRASS, which if you know me, you know I would rather punch myself in the face repeatedly for three hours straight than have to mow the grass. I put on my big girl pants and rolled the mower out to the yard for the whole neighborhood to see when I pulled the chain-thing and....not a thing happened. I crouched next to the mower to look in the gas tank (#5), it was dry. I grabbed the gas can, shook it, heard a little sloshing and thought surely that would be enough. I take it to the mower, remove the nozzle from the spout of the gas can, and am stunned by this weird piece of plastic across the opening. I pick at it, totally flummoxed by this problem. I push and pull on the spout and soon feel like a moron when I realize you have to pull the spout down to release the contents of the gas can. Who would've thought a gas can could be so complicated? But now that I know that, I'm at manly #6.

Lo and behold, there isn't any gas left in the can, so I throw it in the car and head to the station. On returning, I drag the mower back to the yard, fill it with gas (pulling on the spout to release the contents instead of looking like a caveman), push the little red button to "prime" the mower (thankfully, I can honestly say I still don't know what that means), grab the pull-thingy and let it rip with my arm that is beyond tired from all the painting.........nothing. I try 5 more times before I think everyone is looking out his/her window laughing at my level of suckiness and call my brother to try. He comes down, gives it one pull, and bam, it starts.

Mow, mow, mow....suckage, suckage, suckage.....I need a man.....maybe I'll just pay someone.....I think these thoughts in repeat while I muscle the mower around my yard and do a total hack job of it (#7). Looking down on my yard from my window right now, I'm not sure if it is better now or was better shin high. Shin high at least it looked like some of the other houses in my neighborhood, mowed, it looks like a group of horses went stomping through it in no particular pattern.

There are few times when I think it would be nice to have a man around. I'm all about the strong, independent woman thing, but there are some things I just don't like to do or just don't know how to do (weed whacking, for example!).

Today, I feel like I tucked my woman card away into the deep recesses of my mind and had to play the role of man's man. I am not a fan of that feeling.

Here's some cuteness: