As many of you know, I have decided to give up most forms of alcohol for Lent. You would know this because of the obscenely big deal I have made about it on all social media outlets, since apparently I drink more than I realize. I left room for a glass of wine here or there just to avoid a total rebellion 10 days in. I am going to use the pain I am in as my excuse for wine.
In addition to beer and hard alcohol, I have decided, just this morning, to take a 33 day break from shopping as well. This is by far MUCH harder than the drinking. I am not sure if I should be terribly ashamed or congratulate myself for being less of an ALCOholic than a SHOPoholic. The 33 day thing started with Shonda. I blame her. She told me that it takes 33 days to form a habit, so she gave up fried food, pop and fast food for 33 days. She was really good about it. I decided to join her, but I cheated a bit. I didn't help that I was in Hawaii for part of it. And everyone knows when you are traveling over oceans it is a requirement of all American Citizens to taste McDonalds in other places, even if those overseas places are still American Places. Hawaiian McDonalds is just as good as mainland, in case you were wondering (and now I am craving french fries. Hey, that 33 days is up!). I am not sure where the 33 day thing came from, because I had always heard it was 3 weeks, or 21 days to form a new habit (at least that's what they said in those read-your-bible-daily programs), which sounds slightly less panic inducing than giving up shopping for 33 whole days. Like 12 days less panicky. But I can do 33 days. I can. I think I can. I think I can, I think I can. And wouldn't my husband be tickled pink?
It ticks me off a little that he called before I had a chance to publish this blog to tell me that our "accountant" (who doubles as his ongoing employer and biggest fan) has established that I do too much "frivolous" spending and should be cut off from the real household accounts and left to fend for my own with whatever income I can generate while Josh takes care of all of the real living expenses. I would be a little bit hurt, except I know that A) our accountant is TOTALLY biased on Josh's side about the frivolous thing B) Josh TOTALLY padded the numbers of the "frivolous" spending (as if toilet paper is frivolous) and C) that means I get any money I can make on my own to blow. Really, it's not a bad deal. Especially if Josh quits pilfering from my fun money to pay the stupid bills. :) I am so totally spoiled. But he did point out, before we were even married, that I didn't even make enough money to really contribute, therefore my income would be considered play (i.e. fake?) money. I have reminded him of this comment at least weekly since our union. None of this fiscal renovation is helping me with my resolve to become financially independent-able (which means if Josh electrocutes himself replacing a 40 amp breaker, I can still pay the bills) OR to quit shopping. It feels something like a pat on the head and a 5 dollar bill for cleaning up the pile of garbage in the back yard. "Go buy yourself some jelly shoes!" Brings me right back to 1988. I should probably be more offended. But I'm really not.
I went, against my better judgement, along with Josh's strong advice yesterday and took the kids to open swim at the public pool so that I could sit in the hot tub there. We have an ongoing disagreement about the disgustingness of the public hot tub - people stew I call it, and when you watch the comings and goings of various and assorted weirdos, it's somewhat terrifying. I am glad they use enough chlorine to burn your eyelashes off and make your skin peel, but I feel like the hot water kills any germ annihilating properties that chlorine has. Like heat kills bleach, duh. I had to turn my brain off to get in yesterday, especially because it was standing room only, being a holiday, and the place was packed with kids who were elated to not be in school. The pool actually had to post a no-one-under-16 sign at the hot tub because it was just too crowded. I will attribute most of the crowding to three very nice but very large individuals that took up one entire fourth of the tub and were there before I got in and after I left. I managed to get a jet after waiting in line for about 20 minutes. Lines in Jacuzzis are a little weird because it's kind of like a human train of awkward, half naked people staring at the people on the wall and trying to seem uncomfortable enough that the sitters feel bad and want to go get in the cold, child-filled pool and get splashed in the face a lot. When I finally got my jet I refused to make eye contact, or even face any of the line-waiters because I simply wasn't willing to be guilted into moving. Halle was in the hot tub as well because, as everyone knows, she is 16 now. She was feeling a little uncomfortable because she happened to get back from skiing as we were headed to the pool and didn't have her swim suit so she was swimming in her spandex ski shorts and a t-shirt. I am not sure why she felt awkward since this is nearly identical to what she normally wears swimming. I guess the idea that she had underwear on under he spandex was kind of freaking her out, and she was hoping that no one would guess that. All said and done I got at least a half hour on the jet and I think that that honestly helped with my pain more than anything has in a long time. I am afraid that telling Josh that and insisting we get our own hot tub will evolve into his insistence that it is more fiscally responsible to stew with the other people at the public one and pressure me into melting my eyelashes off more often. As my pain level starts creeping up, the eyelashes seem less important. But MAN would I give my left arm, or definitely my diseased uterus, for a little hot tub in the back yard. At least that people stew would only have ingredients that I allow. (Halle, you're out.) Now that I am going to be in charge of the play money, maybe I will just buy my own hot tub. Then I could sit in my back yard twice a day with a glass of (not contraband) red wine and some french fries and think about all the shopping I am not doing. Sounds like heaven to me.
Things That I Have Accomplished
I am not gonna deny it. I am pretty darn proud that I have single handedly trained Emmy to sing along to Kokomo. At first it was only if I hummed it, but by now she chimes in as soon as I start to play it on iTunes. You have to admit - I am awesome. Emmy Singing
I have also, while sitting here on my couch in pain and bemoaning the lack of heavy cream for my coffee, developed a business plan for a drive through grocery store where people like me don't have to get out of the car to get necessities. A little Wall-E -ish? Maybe. But highly useful on days like today, when I should definitely not have been inside Ray's Food Place in my hairy yoga pants, lambie slippers and bed head. I would have cared more, but, well, I just didn't. Drive through grocery shoppuing would have also eliminated the need for me to buy the brownie mixes that were on sale, since I wouldn't have seen them sitting there by the dairy section, which also prompted the purchase of ice cream to have with the brownies. Then I needed cherry pie filling to complete the Ultimate Desert. And all I went in for was heavy cream and hot dog buns. The hot dog buns were the only missing element to the chili dogs that I am "making" for dinner tonight as a reward for slaving away over a Ginormous Pot of Chicken and Rice soup and a Hugungous Batch of Homemade Granola from Scratch yesterday. "Making" is in quotations because all I have to do is open the half gallon of chili from Cash N Carry and I have dinner for three nights. BAM! Last night Mom said I should have Josh make the chicken soup but I was worried he would put raisins and ketchup in it, since those seem to be his failsafe ingredients for everything.
It is cloudy today, and I guess I have gotten spoiled with the sunshine because I feel entirely put out that there is no sunlight streaming through my dirty windows. To compensate, I am listening to Kokomo, of course, and Walk Off The Earth. If you haven't heard them sing Summer Vibe, you should. Especially in February, when it's cloudy.
I love these guys. While I am not normally a huge advocate of cover bands (unless my cousins and daughter are playing Ukelele and Tuba, covering the Lumineers) this band is absolutely RAD. And they have some of their own stuff that is as good as their covers - and that is saying ALOT. Sometime, I plan on seeing them live. But they got so big so fast that a huge arena is less than appealing. Maybe I'll just friend them on FB and request a private concert. They seem like super cool people so I am sure they'd be game.
Today is a day with a lot of pain. I am trying to ignore it but it's not working. So then I distract myself with ideas of how to deal with it. Like going for a 6 mile sprint, but then I imagine getting a quarter mile in and ending up curled on the cold sidewalk and having to figure out how to get back to the house without moving. So then I think about drugs, but A) none of them are helping B) the pain is making me too nauseous to eat anything to buffer them and C) none of them are helping. I also feel like my brain is slowly decomposing and I can't formulate any coherent thoughts. I am blaming drugs but since I have been skipping them a lot maybe it's actually the pain that's making me fuzzy. Which gives me all the more reason to hate it. I contemplate posting something on Facebook about how I feel like I am in labor, but with no baby, but realize nobody wants to hear that, and the gratuitious nod of sympathy I would get would only highlight my desperate grab for attention or help or???? It seems like shopping helps with the pain, but it turns out I spent all of our money AND I don't need anything, except another pair of Lambie Ballet slippers from Bath and Body Works, which are going for $80 on eBay. I must have good taste. They are my all time favorite slippers, and for anyone familiar with my slipper fetish, that's a lot of like. I should be listing stuff on eBay, doing laundry, cleaning my disgusting house, organizing the office, making a spread sheet I have been putting off for a week, and a million other things, but I stand up from the couch, and when I recover from almost passing out, I can't remember what I was going to do. So I reheat my heat pack (which is one of those little bears from Costco - love it) and sit back down. Stupid Uterus. One more listen to Summer Vibe, and maybe I will feel better. Or Kokomo, with Emmy.
It is cloudy today, and I guess I have gotten spoiled with the sunshine because I feel entirely put out that there is no sunlight streaming through my dirty windows. To compensate, I am listening to Kokomo, of course, and Walk Off The Earth. If you haven't heard them sing Summer Vibe, you should. Especially in February, when it's cloudy.
Today is a day with a lot of pain. I am trying to ignore it but it's not working. So then I distract myself with ideas of how to deal with it. Like going for a 6 mile sprint, but then I imagine getting a quarter mile in and ending up curled on the cold sidewalk and having to figure out how to get back to the house without moving. So then I think about drugs, but A) none of them are helping B) the pain is making me too nauseous to eat anything to buffer them and C) none of them are helping. I also feel like my brain is slowly decomposing and I can't formulate any coherent thoughts. I am blaming drugs but since I have been skipping them a lot maybe it's actually the pain that's making me fuzzy. Which gives me all the more reason to hate it. I contemplate posting something on Facebook about how I feel like I am in labor, but with no baby, but realize nobody wants to hear that, and the gratuitious nod of sympathy I would get would only highlight my desperate grab for attention or help or???? It seems like shopping helps with the pain, but it turns out I spent all of our money AND I don't need anything, except another pair of Lambie Ballet slippers from Bath and Body Works, which are going for $80 on eBay. I must have good taste. They are my all time favorite slippers, and for anyone familiar with my slipper fetish, that's a lot of like. I should be listing stuff on eBay, doing laundry, cleaning my disgusting house, organizing the office, making a spread sheet I have been putting off for a week, and a million other things, but I stand up from the couch, and when I recover from almost passing out, I can't remember what I was going to do. So I reheat my heat pack (which is one of those little bears from Costco - love it) and sit back down. Stupid Uterus. One more listen to Summer Vibe, and maybe I will feel better. Or Kokomo, with Emmy.
Things I Consider Fashion Tips
I should title this: How to Dress like a 12 year old, but it wouldn't fit into my theme. Also there is some debate about whether my dressing style is more 12 year old or 10 year old in nature. I am good with either one, but I would like to think by 12 you'd at least know not to mix burnt orange and country blue. Not that anyone should ever wear country blue. For any reason.
In one of my first rants, I discussed things that 30 something mom's shouldn't wear at the risk of appearing like a prosti-tot with wrinkles and cellulite. What I failed to mention is that I think there are certain juvenilish articles of clothing that are perfectly acceptable and help facilitate the aura of a forever young and geeky wannabe. Which I am totally ok with. Allow me to illuminate:
1. Graphic Tees:
Since the plague called WalMart came along and flooded the market with crappily made novelty tees, ripping off perfectly cool companies who were making shirts that didn't end up with barber pole twisted seams after one wash and knew when to stop pushing a certain theme, you have to be careful with your graphic tee selection. Like you can only do SO MUCH My Little Pony throwback styles, and then the only direction you have to go is like My Little Zombie Pony or you're forced to generate Peptol Bismol pink rainbow shirts that should only ever be seen on a toddler. My personal rule of thumb is that if you can get it at WalMart, it's no longer cool. I am on the fence about Target because they have some really Rad Captain America Tees that do not play wring around the body after a washing. My first shopping choice for awesome graphic tees is Fuego, which we fortunately do not have here in Bend (but I just located it ONLINE!!!) . It is always one of my first stops in Olympia. I do like Busted Tees dot com but can't let my mother go there or she might disown me. I currently have a grand collection of graphic tees that I love - one is a GI JOE throwback in army green, and fits like a champ (which I hate to admit since my sister got two of them for both of us and gave me the bigger one, even when she was pregnant), and a red CCCP (Union of Soviet Socialist Republic) shirt that reminds me of high school. I also have a pile of band tees and beer tees that technically count but probably push me over the age bracket into at least middle school. But that's ok. My favorite are the springy-stretchy heather gray ones that feel like vintage 70s shirts. I also have a Captain America shirt that is awesome (not from Target), and one that has an environmental "Respect Your Mother" message and picture of the earth, but obviously has a double meaning for my children. Most likely they weren't expecting ACTUAL moms to wear this shirt, but it sure the heck works. The important thing, when selecting a graphic tee, is to double check WalMart, and to make sure that you have baldies to match, which brings me to my next item:
2. Chuck Taylors:
Anyone who has ever been young, or cool, or definitely both, knows that you can never go wrong with Chuck Taylors (or baldies, to those of us who grew up in the Colville Clique). Unfortunately since my Darling Husband was homeschooled by parents on the wrong side of the fence, he never learned this timeless lesson, and I have been slowly drawing him in to the age-diminishing freedom of wearing baldies. We started him off with some all brown suede leather ones that are from some fancy designer that we found at Buffalo Exchange, and he has worn them at least once. We're still working on it. I, on the other hand, have kelly green, and the origininal Mighty Ducks Purple - which carries a back story of it's own that involves a midnight madness shopping spree at JC Penny in Colville, a new Mighty Ducks Graphic Tee and my first very own self-purchased firm pillow, circa 1992. I also have red velvet and white Christmas striped high tops, deer camo low tops (thank you Urban Outfitters), and about 5 other colors I have shared with Mackenzie, not including the Dr. Suess ones that I got just for her. In our house all together we have at least 20-25 pairs of baldies, ranging in size and color. The reasons for this are A) they are timeless and always in style B) they are suitable for EVERY occasion C) they are adorable D) if they don't fit somebody and/or nobody likes them, I have never ever failed to sell a pair of baldies on eBay no matter how beat up, dirty, destroyed or ugly they are. Case in point: I bought a pair of red white a blue high tops at Goodwill for $9.99 which Josh was giving me total crap about, until they sold on eBay to some wannabe American in Thailand for $90. Liv wins. My short list of colors I want include: Broncos Orange, Classic Navy Blue and Bright Red. My first pair ever was a pair of Forest Green low tops which I customized with an ink pen and the names of various crushes, and then bequeathed to my little sister. I hope she still has them.
3. Jeans
Josh is forever bemoaning the fact that my wardrobe is almost exclusively jeans and hoodies, with a few pairs of sweatpants thrown in. I would like to state that I wouldn't trade my closet for a walk in full of Ann Taylor and Banana Republic to save my life. At this point I am using the perpetual pain I am in to justify my need for "comfort clothes" but after I have my hysterectomy I will have to come up with a new excuse. I love jeans. I just do. And as the styles come and go and I try to squish my weird body into flares and skinnies and capris and jeggings, I have settled on one pair (well, ok, like 7 pairs of the same) of jeans in various sizes to accommodate my fat and less fat days. I wear Livs. At some point, maybe I will grow up into Not My Daughters Jeans, but right now, all my daughters would kill for my Livs, which makes me feel Really Cool. They are a mostly straight legged boot cut that are ultra casual, ultra comfortable and mildly less unflattering than your average pair of flares. On my especially ten year old (or pain filled) days, I wear my baggiest ones that feel like sweat pants. My friends (and husband) hate them. I <3 them.
4. Socks
It is absolutely imperative for any person desiring to dress like a 6th grader to find socks that will really announce their immaturity to the world. Especially in a retail setting where I have to dress my age, I find it crucial to at least throw in some weird socks to remind me that I am really a total goofball. "OOOH is that a Calvin Klein Blouse?" "Why yes, and my socks are totally Sponge Bob!" Ok, so not Sponge Bob, but I do make a concerted effort to find stripes and patterns of over-the-boot socks that cause customers to really contemplate whether they actually match what I am wearing. "Well, there is some yellow in her sweater???" I am sure this habit of mine gives my Very Professional Boss no end of exasperation, but since she vetoed my drawstring linen pants and jacquard slippers from the sales floor, I have to have my little glimpse of self expression. I find that goofy socks are also extremely helpful when choosing baldies, in case there is an issue of color determination to coordinate with the graphic tee. In my Very Professional Boss's defense, she does have a collection of crazy socks for her days off. Or her days they don't show. It's quite rebellious.
5. Hoodies
And this is it, folks, the Pieće de Rèsistance of dressing like a 12 year old. The Big Dish. The Necessary Piece of any junior high wardrobe. I have 27. Hoodies. Most of them are full zip but I have a special place in my heart for pull overs, like the one Victoria's Secret Pink one that is Blue with embroidered hearts all over the yoke and looks just like something from when I was 4. My sister has one too, but this time SHE got the bigger size. Mostly because I bought them when I was really skinny a long time ago. I have at least a half dozen Broncos hoodies in various color combinations, and the rest are primarily souveneirs from Breweries - my favorite of which is a Red Hook Red hoody that fits just right. Hoodies are very important pieces of your wardrobe in how they really reflect your personality and tie back to your baldies. Sometimes if your baldies aren't quite right it's ok to match them to your socks, but never, ever abandon the hoody in exchange for a partial zip mock neck or some other mature-dressing travesty.
So from here I could go into Flannels, ala 1990, or sloppy buns, baseball caps and other hair non-fixes, and wife beater tank tops that are now made in much better fabrics, but I am kind of out of time and my favorite jeans are calling to me... If you have any questions about how to dress like a 12 (or 10) year old, I am always open, Just Call Me Maybe, and feel free to leave pointers and tips or upload pictures for comments and suggestions. This IS my specialty. And hey, truthfully, it's better than dressing like I am 35, right?
In one of my first rants, I discussed things that 30 something mom's shouldn't wear at the risk of appearing like a prosti-tot with wrinkles and cellulite. What I failed to mention is that I think there are certain juvenilish articles of clothing that are perfectly acceptable and help facilitate the aura of a forever young and geeky wannabe. Which I am totally ok with. Allow me to illuminate:
1. Graphic Tees:
Since the plague called WalMart came along and flooded the market with crappily made novelty tees, ripping off perfectly cool companies who were making shirts that didn't end up with barber pole twisted seams after one wash and knew when to stop pushing a certain theme, you have to be careful with your graphic tee selection. Like you can only do SO MUCH My Little Pony throwback styles, and then the only direction you have to go is like My Little Zombie Pony or you're forced to generate Peptol Bismol pink rainbow shirts that should only ever be seen on a toddler. My personal rule of thumb is that if you can get it at WalMart, it's no longer cool. I am on the fence about Target because they have some really Rad Captain America Tees that do not play wring around the body after a washing. My first shopping choice for awesome graphic tees is Fuego, which we fortunately do not have here in Bend (but I just located it ONLINE!!!) . It is always one of my first stops in Olympia. I do like Busted Tees dot com but can't let my mother go there or she might disown me. I currently have a grand collection of graphic tees that I love - one is a GI JOE throwback in army green, and fits like a champ (which I hate to admit since my sister got two of them for both of us and gave me the bigger one, even when she was pregnant), and a red CCCP (Union of Soviet Socialist Republic) shirt that reminds me of high school. I also have a pile of band tees and beer tees that technically count but probably push me over the age bracket into at least middle school. But that's ok. My favorite are the springy-stretchy heather gray ones that feel like vintage 70s shirts. I also have a Captain America shirt that is awesome (not from Target), and one that has an environmental "Respect Your Mother" message and picture of the earth, but obviously has a double meaning for my children. Most likely they weren't expecting ACTUAL moms to wear this shirt, but it sure the heck works. The important thing, when selecting a graphic tee, is to double check WalMart, and to make sure that you have baldies to match, which brings me to my next item:
2. Chuck Taylors:
Anyone who has ever been young, or cool, or definitely both, knows that you can never go wrong with Chuck Taylors (or baldies, to those of us who grew up in the Colville Clique). Unfortunately since my Darling Husband was homeschooled by parents on the wrong side of the fence, he never learned this timeless lesson, and I have been slowly drawing him in to the age-diminishing freedom of wearing baldies. We started him off with some all brown suede leather ones that are from some fancy designer that we found at Buffalo Exchange, and he has worn them at least once. We're still working on it. I, on the other hand, have kelly green, and the origininal Mighty Ducks Purple - which carries a back story of it's own that involves a midnight madness shopping spree at JC Penny in Colville, a new Mighty Ducks Graphic Tee and my first very own self-purchased firm pillow, circa 1992. I also have red velvet and white Christmas striped high tops, deer camo low tops (thank you Urban Outfitters), and about 5 other colors I have shared with Mackenzie, not including the Dr. Suess ones that I got just for her. In our house all together we have at least 20-25 pairs of baldies, ranging in size and color. The reasons for this are A) they are timeless and always in style B) they are suitable for EVERY occasion C) they are adorable D) if they don't fit somebody and/or nobody likes them, I have never ever failed to sell a pair of baldies on eBay no matter how beat up, dirty, destroyed or ugly they are. Case in point: I bought a pair of red white a blue high tops at Goodwill for $9.99 which Josh was giving me total crap about, until they sold on eBay to some wannabe American in Thailand for $90. Liv wins. My short list of colors I want include: Broncos Orange, Classic Navy Blue and Bright Red. My first pair ever was a pair of Forest Green low tops which I customized with an ink pen and the names of various crushes, and then bequeathed to my little sister. I hope she still has them.
3. Jeans
Josh is forever bemoaning the fact that my wardrobe is almost exclusively jeans and hoodies, with a few pairs of sweatpants thrown in. I would like to state that I wouldn't trade my closet for a walk in full of Ann Taylor and Banana Republic to save my life. At this point I am using the perpetual pain I am in to justify my need for "comfort clothes" but after I have my hysterectomy I will have to come up with a new excuse. I love jeans. I just do. And as the styles come and go and I try to squish my weird body into flares and skinnies and capris and jeggings, I have settled on one pair (well, ok, like 7 pairs of the same) of jeans in various sizes to accommodate my fat and less fat days. I wear Livs. At some point, maybe I will grow up into Not My Daughters Jeans, but right now, all my daughters would kill for my Livs, which makes me feel Really Cool. They are a mostly straight legged boot cut that are ultra casual, ultra comfortable and mildly less unflattering than your average pair of flares. On my especially ten year old (or pain filled) days, I wear my baggiest ones that feel like sweat pants. My friends (and husband) hate them. I <3 them.
4. Socks
It is absolutely imperative for any person desiring to dress like a 6th grader to find socks that will really announce their immaturity to the world. Especially in a retail setting where I have to dress my age, I find it crucial to at least throw in some weird socks to remind me that I am really a total goofball. "OOOH is that a Calvin Klein Blouse?" "Why yes, and my socks are totally Sponge Bob!" Ok, so not Sponge Bob, but I do make a concerted effort to find stripes and patterns of over-the-boot socks that cause customers to really contemplate whether they actually match what I am wearing. "Well, there is some yellow in her sweater???" I am sure this habit of mine gives my Very Professional Boss no end of exasperation, but since she vetoed my drawstring linen pants and jacquard slippers from the sales floor, I have to have my little glimpse of self expression. I find that goofy socks are also extremely helpful when choosing baldies, in case there is an issue of color determination to coordinate with the graphic tee. In my Very Professional Boss's defense, she does have a collection of crazy socks for her days off. Or her days they don't show. It's quite rebellious.
5. Hoodies
And this is it, folks, the Pieće de Rèsistance of dressing like a 12 year old. The Big Dish. The Necessary Piece of any junior high wardrobe. I have 27. Hoodies. Most of them are full zip but I have a special place in my heart for pull overs, like the one Victoria's Secret Pink one that is Blue with embroidered hearts all over the yoke and looks just like something from when I was 4. My sister has one too, but this time SHE got the bigger size. Mostly because I bought them when I was really skinny a long time ago. I have at least a half dozen Broncos hoodies in various color combinations, and the rest are primarily souveneirs from Breweries - my favorite of which is a Red Hook Red hoody that fits just right. Hoodies are very important pieces of your wardrobe in how they really reflect your personality and tie back to your baldies. Sometimes if your baldies aren't quite right it's ok to match them to your socks, but never, ever abandon the hoody in exchange for a partial zip mock neck or some other mature-dressing travesty.
So from here I could go into Flannels, ala 1990, or sloppy buns, baseball caps and other hair non-fixes, and wife beater tank tops that are now made in much better fabrics, but I am kind of out of time and my favorite jeans are calling to me... If you have any questions about how to dress like a 12 (or 10) year old, I am always open, Just Call Me Maybe, and feel free to leave pointers and tips or upload pictures for comments and suggestions. This IS my specialty. And hey, truthfully, it's better than dressing like I am 35, right?
Things That That I Face In The Morning
The only thing that was harder to deal with this morning than the yelling teenagers fighting over the bathroom sink and the hair straightener at 6:15 was the half glass of wine on the window sill from the night before. It took me at least 45 seconds to reluctantly decide that it was too early to pound it.
My baby sister is here to visit me. She might actually be here to visit Ethan, who happens to be her boyfriend for a minute, but I would like to imagine she is here to visit just mostly me. I definitely appreciated the fact that the fighting hair-fixers this morning failed to remember their visiting Aunt was sleeping next door to the coveted bathroom sink. I would be concerned that she will never come back except she lived with us before and she knows the routine. A) yell louder than screaming children B) confiscate and possibly throw away offending hair appliance and C) curse under your breath and go back to bed with the pillow over your head. Sanna took the higher road and chose to ignore it and skipped straight to step C.
I think that I am in an extra good mood this morning since Josh and I had our first counseling appointment yesterday and the counselor totally sided with me that all of our problems are primarily Josh's. She gave him a whole bunch of homework and me a lot of sympathy. Ok, maybe that isn't totally how it went down, but she did say something to him about shutting his piehole, which I loved, even if she was kidding. She asked what it was we wanted to get from her, and I just told her I was basically interested in getting Josh fixed, since I was already so well rounded. She seemed to agree but had a funny expression on her face and wrote a lot of notes. Probably about what Josh needed.
I hope y'all know that I pretty much am never more than half-serious about the things I write. I am not sure if that makes me a liar or not, but if I wrote about things exactly like they are, it would be kind of boring, like: Aspen stole chocolate chips for her oatmeal this morning and Halle told on her, which is very ironic since Halle is the chronic chocolate chip thief in the house and everyone knows it. Also, Dagny is going potty almost exclusively outside now, except for on my bed the other day. And Ethan is extremely spoiled by his Grams, which makes me both annoyed with him and jealous. Ok, so I guess the real things are somewhat interesting. Maybe I should try to pare out the embellishments. But the counselor DID say the piehole thing.
Josh has some big plans for Valentine's Day. I am not sure what they are, but I have managed to deduce that now Ethan and Susanna are involved, and that makes me slightly more curious. Apparently it's serious enough that Aspen is going to miss Irish Dance, which makes me slightly more nervous. Surprises always make me uneasy, ever since one year I got a sweater for Christmas that someone thought was so "totally me" that I hated. I feel like it's so easy to get it wrong - like when I bought Josh a little gray Coach wallet to replace his stolen one. Luckily I realized before I made the erroneous mistake of gifting the luxury item to him, and sold it on eBay. The one I am getting him now was way cheaper, and even though it sort of screams 14-year-old-boy-in-camo, it is what he will like and now that I have ruined the surprise it doesn't even matter. My point is that big, drawn out surprises, how ever well intended carry with them the burden of guilt to fulfill expectations for not just initial reaction, but sustained use and fond memories over time. For example, Josh talks about how he got his ex-wife an AMAZING bicycle and it still haunts him how she never rode it. When he surprised me with an AMAZING bicycle, I was forced to ride and enjoy it, or at least feign enjoyment and surprise and wonderment. It is an AMAZING bicycle, and after fighting through my internal rebellion against the expectations, I do love to ride it, as long as there are no hills. Or cars. Or stuff like that. Surprises can be so sweet and awesome. I am trying to think of one that didn't overwhelm me with guilt... My last fiancee surprised me with a fiddle once, that he was mad at me for never learning to play. Josh almost got me a banjo last year that he was going to build from a kit but I caught him in time and redirected him, since I didn't want to relive the fiddle, and when I get a banjo I want a good old used one, not a kit. He gave me a ukelele this year, which I love, and am excited to play, even though it's much fancier than I needed... I even took a lesson in Hawaii, but I have immense guilt for not having it out every day. I really do intend to. And now that the laundry from Hawaii is finally done, MOST of my junk is listed on eBay and my work hours are down to less than 20 a week, I should be able to get to it. After I make dinner. I am always terrified that I won't have the right response to a surprise. Like "SURPRISE! I brought you to this AWESOME Hungarian restaurant for Goulash!" And I have to be like "YUM!" when I hate goulash. I think that Josh knows me well enough by now that I should totally trust him in this. But that's really what it is, isn't it? It's trust. It's trust and control, and the desperate fear that a disappointing surprise means that my husband doesn't really know me. Doesn't know that I won't ride a bike, or eat goulash, or practice fiddle, or wear gold and pearl earrings (don't worry, he knows this!). It sounds so shallow and spoiled and superficial of me but I have to honestly admit that I get all tense and anxious when I start thinking about it. And it's because I want him to know me. I want to know him. I want to know that he won't like a really sexy gray pebble leather slim wallet from Coach. I want to know that he doesn't like goulash either. I want to know that he will never be disappointed with a surprise Cuppa Yo. I want to know that he could lead me blindfolded to my favorite place, every time. But then, it is shallow, it is selfish, and I realize that any surprise he gives me is because he WANTS to know me, and he is trying, and even if it's a slight miss, it's adorable and wonderful and I have a MAN WHO CARES. Really, who could ask for anything more on Valentines day, right? Other than Vosges Chocolates and fuzzy puppy kisses. I have a valentine who loves me enough to let his beard grow out for a month. I have a valentine who won't deposit money in the bank that he knows I will spend because he knows we need it for bills and he is taking care of us, even when I don't like it. I have a valentine that I can trust to lead me anywhere and I WILL enjoy the goulash. And the Bicycle, and the Ukelele, because all of the surprises that he brings to me make me a better person, a wider, more open, more happy and more loved. So bring on the surprise, Valentine, and I trust you to know me.
My baby sister is here to visit me. She might actually be here to visit Ethan, who happens to be her boyfriend for a minute, but I would like to imagine she is here to visit just mostly me. I definitely appreciated the fact that the fighting hair-fixers this morning failed to remember their visiting Aunt was sleeping next door to the coveted bathroom sink. I would be concerned that she will never come back except she lived with us before and she knows the routine. A) yell louder than screaming children B) confiscate and possibly throw away offending hair appliance and C) curse under your breath and go back to bed with the pillow over your head. Sanna took the higher road and chose to ignore it and skipped straight to step C.
I think that I am in an extra good mood this morning since Josh and I had our first counseling appointment yesterday and the counselor totally sided with me that all of our problems are primarily Josh's. She gave him a whole bunch of homework and me a lot of sympathy. Ok, maybe that isn't totally how it went down, but she did say something to him about shutting his piehole, which I loved, even if she was kidding. She asked what it was we wanted to get from her, and I just told her I was basically interested in getting Josh fixed, since I was already so well rounded. She seemed to agree but had a funny expression on her face and wrote a lot of notes. Probably about what Josh needed.
I hope y'all know that I pretty much am never more than half-serious about the things I write. I am not sure if that makes me a liar or not, but if I wrote about things exactly like they are, it would be kind of boring, like: Aspen stole chocolate chips for her oatmeal this morning and Halle told on her, which is very ironic since Halle is the chronic chocolate chip thief in the house and everyone knows it. Also, Dagny is going potty almost exclusively outside now, except for on my bed the other day. And Ethan is extremely spoiled by his Grams, which makes me both annoyed with him and jealous. Ok, so I guess the real things are somewhat interesting. Maybe I should try to pare out the embellishments. But the counselor DID say the piehole thing.
Josh has some big plans for Valentine's Day. I am not sure what they are, but I have managed to deduce that now Ethan and Susanna are involved, and that makes me slightly more curious. Apparently it's serious enough that Aspen is going to miss Irish Dance, which makes me slightly more nervous. Surprises always make me uneasy, ever since one year I got a sweater for Christmas that someone thought was so "totally me" that I hated. I feel like it's so easy to get it wrong - like when I bought Josh a little gray Coach wallet to replace his stolen one. Luckily I realized before I made the erroneous mistake of gifting the luxury item to him, and sold it on eBay. The one I am getting him now was way cheaper, and even though it sort of screams 14-year-old-boy-in-camo, it is what he will like and now that I have ruined the surprise it doesn't even matter. My point is that big, drawn out surprises, how ever well intended carry with them the burden of guilt to fulfill expectations for not just initial reaction, but sustained use and fond memories over time. For example, Josh talks about how he got his ex-wife an AMAZING bicycle and it still haunts him how she never rode it. When he surprised me with an AMAZING bicycle, I was forced to ride and enjoy it, or at least feign enjoyment and surprise and wonderment. It is an AMAZING bicycle, and after fighting through my internal rebellion against the expectations, I do love to ride it, as long as there are no hills. Or cars. Or stuff like that. Surprises can be so sweet and awesome. I am trying to think of one that didn't overwhelm me with guilt... My last fiancee surprised me with a fiddle once, that he was mad at me for never learning to play. Josh almost got me a banjo last year that he was going to build from a kit but I caught him in time and redirected him, since I didn't want to relive the fiddle, and when I get a banjo I want a good old used one, not a kit. He gave me a ukelele this year, which I love, and am excited to play, even though it's much fancier than I needed... I even took a lesson in Hawaii, but I have immense guilt for not having it out every day. I really do intend to. And now that the laundry from Hawaii is finally done, MOST of my junk is listed on eBay and my work hours are down to less than 20 a week, I should be able to get to it. After I make dinner. I am always terrified that I won't have the right response to a surprise. Like "SURPRISE! I brought you to this AWESOME Hungarian restaurant for Goulash!" And I have to be like "YUM!" when I hate goulash. I think that Josh knows me well enough by now that I should totally trust him in this. But that's really what it is, isn't it? It's trust. It's trust and control, and the desperate fear that a disappointing surprise means that my husband doesn't really know me. Doesn't know that I won't ride a bike, or eat goulash, or practice fiddle, or wear gold and pearl earrings (don't worry, he knows this!). It sounds so shallow and spoiled and superficial of me but I have to honestly admit that I get all tense and anxious when I start thinking about it. And it's because I want him to know me. I want to know him. I want to know that he won't like a really sexy gray pebble leather slim wallet from Coach. I want to know that he doesn't like goulash either. I want to know that he will never be disappointed with a surprise Cuppa Yo. I want to know that he could lead me blindfolded to my favorite place, every time. But then, it is shallow, it is selfish, and I realize that any surprise he gives me is because he WANTS to know me, and he is trying, and even if it's a slight miss, it's adorable and wonderful and I have a MAN WHO CARES. Really, who could ask for anything more on Valentines day, right? Other than Vosges Chocolates and fuzzy puppy kisses. I have a valentine who loves me enough to let his beard grow out for a month. I have a valentine who won't deposit money in the bank that he knows I will spend because he knows we need it for bills and he is taking care of us, even when I don't like it. I have a valentine that I can trust to lead me anywhere and I WILL enjoy the goulash. And the Bicycle, and the Ukelele, because all of the surprises that he brings to me make me a better person, a wider, more open, more happy and more loved. So bring on the surprise, Valentine, and I trust you to know me.
Things To Celebrate
1. I am inordinately excited to get the Scentsy Easter Egg Warmer, which means I have to pressure as many people to buy Scentsy stuff from me RIGHT NOW as possible so I can get enough credits to afford it. So go to my Scentsibility page and look around and then tell me what you want. Or order right there. Either way I win.
2. I broke the 160 pound barrier!! This is somewhat like breaking the sound barrier for the first time for all of mankind, except it's not all of mankind, it's just me, and it's just a weight plateau that has been grinning evilly at me for months. 158.9 Kids. I made it. I was tottering on the 159.6-160.2 for a couple days but I didn't want to celebrate to hastily until I landed solidly under for a day or two. My horrible scale lied to me yesterday when I went in to weigh a package and said that I was 156.9. Which is ludicrous since I had just weighed in a couple hours before that, buck naked, at 162. And this time I was fully clothed. Why does the machine play such cruel tricks??? Why?? Anyway. Today was solid and for real. 8.9 lbs to go and I can get the tattoo I have been dreaming about.
3. Halle doesn't like chow mein. The slimy kind with crunchy noodles that is my absolute favorite. This is very exciting because that means my left overs were there for me this morning as a celebratory breakfast for both my weight milestone AND the release of the Easter Egg warmer. Halle had very seriously informed me that the left over won ton soup and pork fried rice were tempting her badly to eat them yesterday. I told her that she could have them but then renigged and said she should save them for Josh. It was very similar to the trick my scale played on me so I was probably just passing along the cruelty. I think saw a tear of disappointment glistening on Halle's cheek as she ate Macaroni and Cheese and leftover pizza.
4. Last night I got to go hold Desi's new puppy and my namesake. Marcus wouldn't let her name their someday baby after me but that's a long way out anyway and I probably would have lost interest in having a namesake by then, so she decided to get a puppy and name it Livia. It's really cute and fuzzy. I don't know why I didn't think of naming a dog after myself. It's pretty brilliant. I'd much rather have a dog named after me than a child because A) dogs are always cute and wonderful and you don't have to worry about having a namesake that is slightly embarrassing and B) I am kind of excited to hear Desi chastise Livi for pottying in the house and complaining about Livi making confetti and talking about how Adorable Livi is. Is that egocentric of me? I love attention in any form. I mean, I already have a niece that is sort of a forced namesake of mine, sort of. Baby OLivia goes by Ava or AvaJane or LiviAva (that's grandpa's fond nickname) or Baby Livi if I am around. But the O and the Ava kind of remove her from TRUE namesake status, even though she's totally cute and not embarrassing at all. I have faith that when she gets older she will start calling herself Livi, and then just Liv, because she will want to be just like her favorite Aunt. That's Aunt Susanna, of course, who also calls me Liv. Or livi. Or Livia if I am annoying her.
5. I got to see Shawn Mullins live last night. Live. His own beautiful voice. It was awesome.
6. Pendleton is doing a sale on blankets this weekend. Need I say more? Ok, I will say more - this sale is on factory seconds and discontinued styles. Which means the cheapest just got cheaper. Also, I get paid on Friday. Also, I have been kicking bottom (you're welcome, mom) on eBay so I can start paying my business investors back (you're welcome, mom - er... thank you?). I have had my eye on this blanket since we opened up, but we run out of them as fast as we get them in. Right now we have a big stack of SECONDS in this pattern. WIN!!!! If you haven't touched the 5th avenue throw yet, you should just come to my house and feel Dagny's cheeks. It's pretty much the same thing. BTW, I am in love with my puppy. I really think that Josh should just put a pink bow on her neck and re-gift her to me for Valentines Day since nothing would make me happier. Maybe throw in some of those Chocolates that Victoria's Secret is giving away with a $75 purchase right now. Even Gift Cards count toward the $75. And the chocolates are so good, I nearly died from delight eating them last year. If you're curious, they are these: Victoria's Secret Chocolates. If you watch this video, I should be clear: you will not look this sexy when eating the chocolates. I know, I tried. So don't be all like "you said I would be super skinny and hot if I ate these!" Cause I totally didn't. If it seems like I am dropping any subtle hints here, yes, I am. Josh.
7. The sun has been out every day, and if you don't go outside, you could almost pretend that you are in Hawaii. But if you go outside, it's crisp and fresh and amazing. Like early fall, or late spring, except that it is February. If it snows in June I will probably pout.
I'll quit with 7 Things To Celebrate because I like the number seven, and NOT because it's God's number. I mean, maybe it is, but he totally made me born in 1977 so maybe that means that he super extra loves me or whatever. And on that note, I would like to leave you with this gem for your viewing pleasure: KISSES!!!
 |
| https://predictability.scentsy.us/Scentsy/Buy/ProductDetails/DSW-EEGG |
2. I broke the 160 pound barrier!! This is somewhat like breaking the sound barrier for the first time for all of mankind, except it's not all of mankind, it's just me, and it's just a weight plateau that has been grinning evilly at me for months. 158.9 Kids. I made it. I was tottering on the 159.6-160.2 for a couple days but I didn't want to celebrate to hastily until I landed solidly under for a day or two. My horrible scale lied to me yesterday when I went in to weigh a package and said that I was 156.9. Which is ludicrous since I had just weighed in a couple hours before that, buck naked, at 162. And this time I was fully clothed. Why does the machine play such cruel tricks??? Why?? Anyway. Today was solid and for real. 8.9 lbs to go and I can get the tattoo I have been dreaming about.
3. Halle doesn't like chow mein. The slimy kind with crunchy noodles that is my absolute favorite. This is very exciting because that means my left overs were there for me this morning as a celebratory breakfast for both my weight milestone AND the release of the Easter Egg warmer. Halle had very seriously informed me that the left over won ton soup and pork fried rice were tempting her badly to eat them yesterday. I told her that she could have them but then renigged and said she should save them for Josh. It was very similar to the trick my scale played on me so I was probably just passing along the cruelty. I think saw a tear of disappointment glistening on Halle's cheek as she ate Macaroni and Cheese and leftover pizza.
4. Last night I got to go hold Desi's new puppy and my namesake. Marcus wouldn't let her name their someday baby after me but that's a long way out anyway and I probably would have lost interest in having a namesake by then, so she decided to get a puppy and name it Livia. It's really cute and fuzzy. I don't know why I didn't think of naming a dog after myself. It's pretty brilliant. I'd much rather have a dog named after me than a child because A) dogs are always cute and wonderful and you don't have to worry about having a namesake that is slightly embarrassing and B) I am kind of excited to hear Desi chastise Livi for pottying in the house and complaining about Livi making confetti and talking about how Adorable Livi is. Is that egocentric of me? I love attention in any form. I mean, I already have a niece that is sort of a forced namesake of mine, sort of. Baby OLivia goes by Ava or AvaJane or LiviAva (that's grandpa's fond nickname) or Baby Livi if I am around. But the O and the Ava kind of remove her from TRUE namesake status, even though she's totally cute and not embarrassing at all. I have faith that when she gets older she will start calling herself Livi, and then just Liv, because she will want to be just like her favorite Aunt. That's Aunt Susanna, of course, who also calls me Liv. Or livi. Or Livia if I am annoying her.
5. I got to see Shawn Mullins live last night. Live. His own beautiful voice. It was awesome.
 |
| Glacier Park 5th Avenue Throw Will Be Mine |
6. Pendleton is doing a sale on blankets this weekend. Need I say more? Ok, I will say more - this sale is on factory seconds and discontinued styles. Which means the cheapest just got cheaper. Also, I get paid on Friday. Also, I have been kicking bottom (you're welcome, mom) on eBay so I can start paying my business investors back (you're welcome, mom - er... thank you?). I have had my eye on this blanket since we opened up, but we run out of them as fast as we get them in. Right now we have a big stack of SECONDS in this pattern. WIN!!!! If you haven't touched the 5th avenue throw yet, you should just come to my house and feel Dagny's cheeks. It's pretty much the same thing. BTW, I am in love with my puppy. I really think that Josh should just put a pink bow on her neck and re-gift her to me for Valentines Day since nothing would make me happier. Maybe throw in some of those Chocolates that Victoria's Secret is giving away with a $75 purchase right now. Even Gift Cards count toward the $75. And the chocolates are so good, I nearly died from delight eating them last year. If you're curious, they are these: Victoria's Secret Chocolates. If you watch this video, I should be clear: you will not look this sexy when eating the chocolates. I know, I tried. So don't be all like "you said I would be super skinny and hot if I ate these!" Cause I totally didn't. If it seems like I am dropping any subtle hints here, yes, I am. Josh.
7. The sun has been out every day, and if you don't go outside, you could almost pretend that you are in Hawaii. But if you go outside, it's crisp and fresh and amazing. Like early fall, or late spring, except that it is February. If it snows in June I will probably pout.
I'll quit with 7 Things To Celebrate because I like the number seven, and NOT because it's God's number. I mean, maybe it is, but he totally made me born in 1977 so maybe that means that he super extra loves me or whatever. And on that note, I would like to leave you with this gem for your viewing pleasure: KISSES!!!
oh, to compensate for that, here is this:
Things That Are Really Gross
Within the last 24 hours, three of our four domesticated animals have peed on my bed. I feel like I don't need to say much else to convey the disgust I feel toward the whole world right now. When Natalee brought her rabbit in to "visit" as I was cleaning my room, he took the opportunity to squirt thick, yellow, boy-rabbit pee all over the only comforter that wasn't in the wash. Emmy had already compromised my new wool blanket, which was hastily removed and stored away from animal reach for safekeeping, and even though Dagny was sent outside with Emmy because of this transgression, the younger dog decided peeing in mom's bed must be cool so she circled around and squatted right in the middle of my "washable" down comforter. The first 700 times I washed this comforter it was great. It even smelled clean. Now, any feathers that actually remain inside the comforter during a washing, look and smell like they have been soaking in the Mississippi river. Right by where they are dumping the sewage in. So now ALL of my bedding is waiting patiently in line to be washed, along with about 78% of my wardrobe since Josh decided not to mix our laundry any more.
Apparently the other day I gave Josh a strongly opined lecture about how laundry should be done. I don't remember being angry, except maybe a little when I got into my underwear drawer and realized that Someone had put at least two loads of dirty laundry away for me, along with two stacks of carefully sorted yard sale clothes. The poor boy was only trying to help recover us from Hawaii, and since I worked every day and was rendered otherwise useless, he set to work. I guess I failed to communicate what the assorted mountains of clothes were. Anyway, all he took away from our discussion, which I will agree was rather one sided, is that he shouldn't ever do my laundry again, ever. So I am on my own. Which is not a very good place to be. I am trying to win him back to my side of the chores with gentle cooings of love and telling him that there "ain't no sunshine when he's gone" from my laundry room. I am not sure that it is working. I still haven't quite decided if dirty underwear in my drawer is worse than never having any clean clothes, but I am pretty sure it's not.
Anyway, since everyone else is using me bed for a toilet, I went ahead and invited Truck on down to poop on my pillow, since I just put new pillowcases on. I really feel terrible complaining about Emmy at all, because she is generally mostly sometimes potty trained, and since her car wreck (I wish she had wrecked the car) she has trouble getting outside, especially through the dog door, especially with her Cone of Shame on. And I feel like she suffers enough banging her cone on every hard surface trying to sniff and rub her head on fuzzy things. Her little accident last night was purely a tortured side effect of being cut off from potty access, which I guess is my fault. I am thinking about sleeping on the couch tonight, or the floor, but I can't seem to find anywhere that is uncontaminated by something. Now I know what hell will be.
I feel like I am fighting windmills trying to keep up with all of the mini catastrophes in this house. Very tiny windmills, but windmills all the same. I have to make a confession: I went to Walmart. The one in Bend. For the first time ever. It's the only place that I knew had Kids N Pets and I felt like if I got enough Kids N Pets I would feel like I was in control of the sanitation of my home again. Since I really never ever ever EVER want to go back to Walmart again, I bought like 4 bottles, and hurried out. I nearly died three time. Mostly from shame but also when some scary looking white trash hipsters (Oxymoron, anyone?) and a pair of psuedo-Trustafarians got into a scuffle in the dog food aisle over the last roll of fresh pet refrigerated food. I happened to have two rolls of the good stuff (chicken flavor, duh) under my arm and no way to defend myself since my hands were full of Kids N Pets, but I got ready to use one of them like pepper spray if things got serious. I plan to never go back to that store. Did I already mention that?
I am hot and heavy in the middle of cleaning various types of urine around the house, so I'd better get back to it. But I thought you would want something to make you sleep better in your nice, clean, pee-free bed tonight.
Apparently the other day I gave Josh a strongly opined lecture about how laundry should be done. I don't remember being angry, except maybe a little when I got into my underwear drawer and realized that Someone had put at least two loads of dirty laundry away for me, along with two stacks of carefully sorted yard sale clothes. The poor boy was only trying to help recover us from Hawaii, and since I worked every day and was rendered otherwise useless, he set to work. I guess I failed to communicate what the assorted mountains of clothes were. Anyway, all he took away from our discussion, which I will agree was rather one sided, is that he shouldn't ever do my laundry again, ever. So I am on my own. Which is not a very good place to be. I am trying to win him back to my side of the chores with gentle cooings of love and telling him that there "ain't no sunshine when he's gone" from my laundry room. I am not sure that it is working. I still haven't quite decided if dirty underwear in my drawer is worse than never having any clean clothes, but I am pretty sure it's not.
Anyway, since everyone else is using me bed for a toilet, I went ahead and invited Truck on down to poop on my pillow, since I just put new pillowcases on. I really feel terrible complaining about Emmy at all, because she is generally mostly sometimes potty trained, and since her car wreck (I wish she had wrecked the car) she has trouble getting outside, especially through the dog door, especially with her Cone of Shame on. And I feel like she suffers enough banging her cone on every hard surface trying to sniff and rub her head on fuzzy things. Her little accident last night was purely a tortured side effect of being cut off from potty access, which I guess is my fault. I am thinking about sleeping on the couch tonight, or the floor, but I can't seem to find anywhere that is uncontaminated by something. Now I know what hell will be.
I feel like I am fighting windmills trying to keep up with all of the mini catastrophes in this house. Very tiny windmills, but windmills all the same. I have to make a confession: I went to Walmart. The one in Bend. For the first time ever. It's the only place that I knew had Kids N Pets and I felt like if I got enough Kids N Pets I would feel like I was in control of the sanitation of my home again. Since I really never ever ever EVER want to go back to Walmart again, I bought like 4 bottles, and hurried out. I nearly died three time. Mostly from shame but also when some scary looking white trash hipsters (Oxymoron, anyone?) and a pair of psuedo-Trustafarians got into a scuffle in the dog food aisle over the last roll of fresh pet refrigerated food. I happened to have two rolls of the good stuff (chicken flavor, duh) under my arm and no way to defend myself since my hands were full of Kids N Pets, but I got ready to use one of them like pepper spray if things got serious. I plan to never go back to that store. Did I already mention that?
I am hot and heavy in the middle of cleaning various types of urine around the house, so I'd better get back to it. But I thought you would want something to make you sleep better in your nice, clean, pee-free bed tonight.
Things That You Can Make Fun Of Me For
So, yesterday was another one of "my only day off"s . I took down the Christmas lights, cleaned up Dagny's confetti, cleaned out and relocated Emmy's borrowed kennel, shipped all my eBay stuff and even got dressed. Mostly I got dressed so I could go out shopping with Shonda. Shonda was supposed to do all of the shopping since she is going to Maui soon and I am cut off, but I had this one coupon I needed to use...
Anyway, we ended up at Ross (big surprise there) and we tried on like seven billion outfits. All said and done, we both ended up mostly liking one pair of gray chino- type pants. Turns out they were maternity. We both decided our pride died in year 29 and we could totally wear maternity pants with our heads held high. As long as no one else knew. We almost came to blows over the one pair we had found, and were just about to settle on joint custody, as seems to be happening more and more lately, when I stumbled across an identical pair. I mean for $8.99 you really can't leave behind the most comfortable and third most cute pair of slack type pants ever. Joint custody is a great plan for us usually because A) it rules out us showing up to work in the same outfit, which now we have to coordinate by text and B) I can tell Josh I didn't buy anything. It's also convenient that we are almost the same size; I have a little bit on her in height but she makes up for it in cleavage, so we're pretty even. The ideal situation would have been for us to get two different colors of the pants and trade them periodically. We did that with a couple of skirts but haven't gotten to the swapping part yet. I will let you know how that works out.
I also got some things at Ross to sell on eBay, which are already listed and already getting bid up, so that almost justifies all of my shopping, right? I listed tons of amazing stuff on eBay yesterday, finally, and some of it is so cool I want to bid on my own auctions. It's a good thing that I just kept one of each of the really cool things I am selling.
Aside from all of that trivial nonsense, today is February 7th, which happens to be the title of my absolute favorite song from The Carpenter, which, if you haven't heard, is the best Avett album since Emotionalism. I decided to ruin your entire day by making you weep as you listen to this beautiful song of redemption and second chances. And finding your way out of the dark pit that is so easy to fall into. This song is for my Funny Valentine, today and forever:
Anyway, we ended up at Ross (big surprise there) and we tried on like seven billion outfits. All said and done, we both ended up mostly liking one pair of gray chino- type pants. Turns out they were maternity. We both decided our pride died in year 29 and we could totally wear maternity pants with our heads held high. As long as no one else knew. We almost came to blows over the one pair we had found, and were just about to settle on joint custody, as seems to be happening more and more lately, when I stumbled across an identical pair. I mean for $8.99 you really can't leave behind the most comfortable and third most cute pair of slack type pants ever. Joint custody is a great plan for us usually because A) it rules out us showing up to work in the same outfit, which now we have to coordinate by text and B) I can tell Josh I didn't buy anything. It's also convenient that we are almost the same size; I have a little bit on her in height but she makes up for it in cleavage, so we're pretty even. The ideal situation would have been for us to get two different colors of the pants and trade them periodically. We did that with a couple of skirts but haven't gotten to the swapping part yet. I will let you know how that works out.
I also got some things at Ross to sell on eBay, which are already listed and already getting bid up, so that almost justifies all of my shopping, right? I listed tons of amazing stuff on eBay yesterday, finally, and some of it is so cool I want to bid on my own auctions. It's a good thing that I just kept one of each of the really cool things I am selling.
Aside from all of that trivial nonsense, today is February 7th, which happens to be the title of my absolute favorite song from The Carpenter, which, if you haven't heard, is the best Avett album since Emotionalism. I decided to ruin your entire day by making you weep as you listen to this beautiful song of redemption and second chances. And finding your way out of the dark pit that is so easy to fall into. This song is for my Funny Valentine, today and forever:
Things That Are Indicative
I shouldn't probably tell you this, because you may never look at me the same way, but I have this coping strategy for when I am really frustrated with "people" (like my husband), where I will just force myself to write something very nice about him and somehow in the process my internal growling subsides and I kind of hit a reset button. Now you know that anytime you read glowing praise about Josh, I am most likely just super ticked off at him. Not always. But usually.
Last night Josh was so cute. He came into Pendleton where we were working an extra long day trying to get freight done and he helped break down boxes and stuff.
AAAAAAnd that's about as far as I can get.... Let's go this route:
1. Dagny's confetti decorating isn't that cute.
2. 6 people in the house (yes Ethan, you are included) other than me didn't notice the thawed steaks in the sink all night and even though it's technically my fault, I hold them all responsible.
3. Even though there are only three dirty bowls, I am immensely irked that SOMEONE didn't do any dishes last night (evidenced by ignored steaks).
4. I hate my hair.
5. I hate my clothes.
6. I can hardly control my need to engage an intense string of profanity when I discover, once again, the open jumbo pack of cheap hot dogs wrapped in a leaking grocery bag in the refrigerator. Obviously the bag has been relocated several times because the ENTIRE appliance is drowning in sticky, smelly hot dog juice. Two words, people: ZIP LOCK. You can reduce-reuse-recycle your toilet paper before I want to find hot dogs in a leaky grocery bag again. (Josh looked really sexy last night.)
7. My spinach-apple-lime-carrot juice tried to kill me with disgustingness this morning.
8. I didn't bother to tell Aspen to brush her hair this morning. And she may have had cookies for breakfast. I am not sure.
9. The fact that NOBODY in the house woke Aspen up for school makes me irate. Because I had to get out of bed. (Even though you weren't even here, I still blame you, Ethan.)
10. My coffee tastes extra good.
11. I am considering a perm.
12. Emmy looks so cute in the cone of shame that I want to get one for everyone in my family. And then rig all the doors so they only open to slightly less wide than the cones. And then run the video camera for awhile. Is that sadistic?
13. Even shopping doesn't sound that fun (I know once I get started I will actually enjoy it. Just have to push through).
14. I finally took the dead Christmas wreath down. Good bye, Holidays.
15. Truck is hiding in the Spare Oom.
16. I think Bones is annoying.
17. I think air is annoying.
18. My pillow is the most beautiful place in the whole world.
19. I have an inclination to listen to Disturbed.
20. Everything is Josh's fault. But he's a really great guy.
Really, life is awesome. There is nothing at all wrong. But everything seems not right. This is the danger of hormones. I have to chant to myself repeatedly that two giant, delicious, wasted steaks aren't the end of the world. That Dagny can get her medicine three days after the vet says, that it's not a big deal if the Christmas lights aren't down yet, that Words With Friends shouldn't necessarily be on a locked system that releases only when honey-do punch lists are completed. I have to remember that the big kennel and the loose, clanking sample tiles in the back of my car are there for a reason that eventually "Someone" will get to, and even though they seem like evil barons of doom, they really aren't hurting anything. Nothing is the end of the world. Not the pee spot on the rug that isn't Dagny's for once, or the inch of hot dog juice in the crisper. I am well taken care of. I want for nothing. Other than a pretty hefty dose of pain that I am almost totally used to by now, I feel great. My kids are healthy, Josh is Amazing, and Ethan has his own chair. The bills are (mostly) paid, Emmy is doing pretty well, and my car is running. I just got a DVD four pack of Howard Keel musicals and I can lose myself in Showboat while I list Victoria's Secret junk on eBay and make a million dollars. But first I have to take down Christmas lights. And clean the kennel. And throw away the steaks. And get dressed, which is the hardest thing of all on days like this. And quit blaming poor Josh, who did nothing wrong except leave for work. And clean up Dagny's confetti.
Last night Josh was so cute. He came into Pendleton where we were working an extra long day trying to get freight done and he helped break down boxes and stuff.
AAAAAAnd that's about as far as I can get.... Let's go this route:
Telltale Signs That I Have Entered the 2 Week Pre Menstrual Zone
1. Dagny's confetti decorating isn't that cute.
2. 6 people in the house (yes Ethan, you are included) other than me didn't notice the thawed steaks in the sink all night and even though it's technically my fault, I hold them all responsible.
3. Even though there are only three dirty bowls, I am immensely irked that SOMEONE didn't do any dishes last night (evidenced by ignored steaks).
4. I hate my hair.
5. I hate my clothes.
6. I can hardly control my need to engage an intense string of profanity when I discover, once again, the open jumbo pack of cheap hot dogs wrapped in a leaking grocery bag in the refrigerator. Obviously the bag has been relocated several times because the ENTIRE appliance is drowning in sticky, smelly hot dog juice. Two words, people: ZIP LOCK. You can reduce-reuse-recycle your toilet paper before I want to find hot dogs in a leaky grocery bag again. (Josh looked really sexy last night.)
7. My spinach-apple-lime-carrot juice tried to kill me with disgustingness this morning.
8. I didn't bother to tell Aspen to brush her hair this morning. And she may have had cookies for breakfast. I am not sure.
9. The fact that NOBODY in the house woke Aspen up for school makes me irate. Because I had to get out of bed. (Even though you weren't even here, I still blame you, Ethan.)
10. My coffee tastes extra good.
11. I am considering a perm.
12. Emmy looks so cute in the cone of shame that I want to get one for everyone in my family. And then rig all the doors so they only open to slightly less wide than the cones. And then run the video camera for awhile. Is that sadistic?
13. Even shopping doesn't sound that fun (I know once I get started I will actually enjoy it. Just have to push through).
14. I finally took the dead Christmas wreath down. Good bye, Holidays.
15. Truck is hiding in the Spare Oom.
16. I think Bones is annoying.
17. I think air is annoying.
18. My pillow is the most beautiful place in the whole world.
19. I have an inclination to listen to Disturbed.
20. Everything is Josh's fault. But he's a really great guy.
Really, life is awesome. There is nothing at all wrong. But everything seems not right. This is the danger of hormones. I have to chant to myself repeatedly that two giant, delicious, wasted steaks aren't the end of the world. That Dagny can get her medicine three days after the vet says, that it's not a big deal if the Christmas lights aren't down yet, that Words With Friends shouldn't necessarily be on a locked system that releases only when honey-do punch lists are completed. I have to remember that the big kennel and the loose, clanking sample tiles in the back of my car are there for a reason that eventually "Someone" will get to, and even though they seem like evil barons of doom, they really aren't hurting anything. Nothing is the end of the world. Not the pee spot on the rug that isn't Dagny's for once, or the inch of hot dog juice in the crisper. I am well taken care of. I want for nothing. Other than a pretty hefty dose of pain that I am almost totally used to by now, I feel great. My kids are healthy, Josh is Amazing, and Ethan has his own chair. The bills are (mostly) paid, Emmy is doing pretty well, and my car is running. I just got a DVD four pack of Howard Keel musicals and I can lose myself in Showboat while I list Victoria's Secret junk on eBay and make a million dollars. But first I have to take down Christmas lights. And clean the kennel. And throw away the steaks. And get dressed, which is the hardest thing of all on days like this. And quit blaming poor Josh, who did nothing wrong except leave for work. And clean up Dagny's confetti.
Things That Sing
It's that time of year. A little early for spring I know, but it hit me last week sometime when On and On came on my iPod out of the blue and I realized I hadn't had a full blown Avetthon for a very long time. The holidays are over, and as life begins to fall back together in spite of the random emergencies that seem to think they have found their ultimate target at our house, a song sneaks in every here and there and reminds me of sunshine and long drives on open highways and everything just being alright. It is almost Music Season.
I ruined a romantic surprise that my Adorable Husband tried to sneak, but since he really only beat me by like 7 hours I am not sure that it totally counts. Shawn Mullins is coming to Bend on the 10th, and if you have known me for longer than like four days you know that if I have a favorite non-Avett song, it's Lullabye. Well, ok, Two Princes and MMMMBop are pretty high up there too. And Stay, by Lisa Loeb. But Shawn Mullins is the man. And he is coming to Bend on the 10th. Oh, did I already say that? Anyway, I decided I had better jump on tickets this morning, but I had a slight hunch that Josh might have/would be trying to surprise me with them, so I asked, and he was mad at me for ruining it, but I am just glad we got seats, since there was only like 10 left!! Now I have something to live for! (Other than the new National Parks Blankets at work)
Poor little Emmy came out of surgery yesterday with a funky bandaid and a cone of shame, which made us all need to watch Up really bad, which we did, and I know for a fact that at least Josh and I cried, as always. Josh feigned an allergy attack, acute onset of a new surprise allergy, since I have never known him to be allergic to anything other than giving compliments. But back to the cone of shame, and I will admit that I feel absolutely terrible at how hysterically funny it is to watch Emmy try to go through the dog door with it on. To her immense credit, she has figured out how to do it, which is no small feat!! But somehow spacial awareness of corners around door frames is still escaping her, so she bounces off at least three walls at any given corner. She doesn't seem to be in a lot of pain, which is a hug relief, unless someone else is eating carrots that she can't reach outside of her cone. Watching her drink is the second most funny event in the house these days (first is watching Josh get mad about Aspen's lactose induced gassiness), as she literally shovels water into her cone and then tries not to drown while lapping it up before it spills all over the floor. Our kitchen floor is pretty much a pond right now, and the cute little wet ear tips she used to get drinking water have given way to a full-on cone of shame swirly.
Truck is using this time to carefully examine his behavior and question what terrible thing Emmy must have done to be punished so, and I am using his fear to reinforce my overprotectiveness toward my Pendleton blankets. "See Truck, this is what happens when you sleep on wool." Dagny is half curious and half could-care-less about the whole thing but wonders if she also should be having a hard time getting out the dog door, so she just poops inside to avoid the question. Cleaning up poop isn't nearly so bad when you have a Shawn Mullins concert next week.
I ruined a romantic surprise that my Adorable Husband tried to sneak, but since he really only beat me by like 7 hours I am not sure that it totally counts. Shawn Mullins is coming to Bend on the 10th, and if you have known me for longer than like four days you know that if I have a favorite non-Avett song, it's Lullabye. Well, ok, Two Princes and MMMMBop are pretty high up there too. And Stay, by Lisa Loeb. But Shawn Mullins is the man. And he is coming to Bend on the 10th. Oh, did I already say that? Anyway, I decided I had better jump on tickets this morning, but I had a slight hunch that Josh might have/would be trying to surprise me with them, so I asked, and he was mad at me for ruining it, but I am just glad we got seats, since there was only like 10 left!! Now I have something to live for! (Other than the new National Parks Blankets at work)
Poor little Emmy came out of surgery yesterday with a funky bandaid and a cone of shame, which made us all need to watch Up really bad, which we did, and I know for a fact that at least Josh and I cried, as always. Josh feigned an allergy attack, acute onset of a new surprise allergy, since I have never known him to be allergic to anything other than giving compliments. But back to the cone of shame, and I will admit that I feel absolutely terrible at how hysterically funny it is to watch Emmy try to go through the dog door with it on. To her immense credit, she has figured out how to do it, which is no small feat!! But somehow spacial awareness of corners around door frames is still escaping her, so she bounces off at least three walls at any given corner. She doesn't seem to be in a lot of pain, which is a hug relief, unless someone else is eating carrots that she can't reach outside of her cone. Watching her drink is the second most funny event in the house these days (first is watching Josh get mad about Aspen's lactose induced gassiness), as she literally shovels water into her cone and then tries not to drown while lapping it up before it spills all over the floor. Our kitchen floor is pretty much a pond right now, and the cute little wet ear tips she used to get drinking water have given way to a full-on cone of shame swirly.
Truck is using this time to carefully examine his behavior and question what terrible thing Emmy must have done to be punished so, and I am using his fear to reinforce my overprotectiveness toward my Pendleton blankets. "See Truck, this is what happens when you sleep on wool." Dagny is half curious and half could-care-less about the whole thing but wonders if she also should be having a hard time getting out the dog door, so she just poops inside to avoid the question. Cleaning up poop isn't nearly so bad when you have a Shawn Mullins concert next week.
Things That Just Keep Happening
You gotta give it to My Boy. The hits haven't slowed down, and he's still going. In fact, the man is actually developing a sense of humor. This is largely due to the fact that I threatened to go back to Hawaii forever without him if I had to keep putting up with his bad luck AND his bad attitude. We had a long talk about stuff like that last night, and the part that stands out to me is when I referred to myself and my kids as the albatross and albatrosslings that haunted Josh's life, which he denied, since albatrossling isn't even a word, and he thought they were called goslings, which is even slightly more incorrect, and so we got off on some thesauratic debate and completely lost focus. While we were having this deeply intellectual conversation, someone was outside breaking into Josh's unlocked truck, which is incidentally NOT very difficult to do, and stealing his wallet and an armload of little miscellaneous stuff. Other than his iPhone cord (which is almost entirely likely one that he stole from me), the most important thing the punk stole was Josh's wallet, until you consider the idiocy of trying to steal Josh's identity. I mean seriously? Who in the world would want to be perpetually rejected, financially annihilated, emotionally devastated and tactically impaired on a semi-constant basis? I really kind of hope that his horrible luck is passed on to the idiot that stole my iPhone cord. Josh got his cards all cancelled pretty quickly, which probably wasn't even necessary since I had just drained all the accounts due to a new shipment of 48 boxes of blankets at Pendleton (speaking of Josh's bad luck).
Since the truck was broken into this morning, it only made sense that Emmy would need to go back in for an extra surgery today, so she did, since her skin repair was coming apart. Hopefully the new technique they are trying will work better. If not I think the next step is to hunt down a skunk or badger and use the fur to patch hers. I wonder if she will always smell bad if we do that? I'm all for leaving the white stripe and encouraging Emmy to try the punk look for a while, but Josh won't even let me get her a mohawk when I take her to the groomer for her bimonthly haircut that costs more than mine. He's so boring. No wonder he has bad luck.
Today was my day off. I would like to say it was my one day off so I can sound all dramatic about everything I have to get done in this one short day, but I totally had a 4 day weekend that is just ending today and only have to work every other day anyway. Apparently January sales at Pendleton are not justifying a full time schedule for me. Even though I work for about 50 cents an hour. All of that said, I still got almost NOTHING done that I was planning on since Josh highjacked me to run around and clean up the messes from his chaotic life all morning and then FORCED me to take a nap on the couch. I fought it tooth and nail, but he won. So here it is, all 5 o'clock and stuff and I have the guilt of the accomplishment of nothing to chase me through dinner and into my session with the couch tonight.
But before I can go and pretend to try to get stuff done, I have to help Josh re-bandage his poor dog - I am starting to wonder if him rescuing her was really that nice of him...
Since the truck was broken into this morning, it only made sense that Emmy would need to go back in for an extra surgery today, so she did, since her skin repair was coming apart. Hopefully the new technique they are trying will work better. If not I think the next step is to hunt down a skunk or badger and use the fur to patch hers. I wonder if she will always smell bad if we do that? I'm all for leaving the white stripe and encouraging Emmy to try the punk look for a while, but Josh won't even let me get her a mohawk when I take her to the groomer for her bimonthly haircut that costs more than mine. He's so boring. No wonder he has bad luck.
Today was my day off. I would like to say it was my one day off so I can sound all dramatic about everything I have to get done in this one short day, but I totally had a 4 day weekend that is just ending today and only have to work every other day anyway. Apparently January sales at Pendleton are not justifying a full time schedule for me. Even though I work for about 50 cents an hour. All of that said, I still got almost NOTHING done that I was planning on since Josh highjacked me to run around and clean up the messes from his chaotic life all morning and then FORCED me to take a nap on the couch. I fought it tooth and nail, but he won. So here it is, all 5 o'clock and stuff and I have the guilt of the accomplishment of nothing to chase me through dinner and into my session with the couch tonight.
But before I can go and pretend to try to get stuff done, I have to help Josh re-bandage his poor dog - I am starting to wonder if him rescuing her was really that nice of him...
Things About Family
You know that scene in It's A Wonderful Life at the very end when Harry shows up and toasts Jimmy Stewart as the Richest Man In Town? That's pretty much how I feel this morning. This is the thing about family and friends. Even when life is falling apart around your ears, and it seems like if one more thing goes wrong there is just no point in going on, and even if those overwhelming things will be, in hindsight, little speed bumps to remind us of who we are and what we are capable of, there is no price that can be put on having people around you who care.
I know that my sister can attest to this from a bleak crisis in her life a couple of year ago, and even though Emmy being hit by a car and the truck breaking down and Josh not getting the job he wanted are all somewhat minor in the big scheme of this beautiful life, I cannot fathom the love that washes over us from every corner of the country. Who knew that bringing pizza to feed everybody the night we got home from Hawaii and were shell-shocked from Emmy's accident would be the most comforting thing in the world? Or a some money from a little brother and sister who probably didn't really need to being dropping money like that (maybe we can work it out to be a tax write off?). Or a perfectly-timed interest-free short-term loan from parents who would do anything to make sure their kids were not just ok, but good. Or one of Emmy's greatest fans offering to babysit her anytime during her recovery process. Or a kennel from a family friend who wants desperately to help make sure that sweet Emmy is going to be taken care of. Or a vet that writes off all of her time with the dog and channels us drugs for her at cost. Or an impromptu intervention from buddies that will not stand to see all the little stress fractures do lasting damage to our relationships. I cannot tell you how loved I feel right now. How completely blessed and humbled and overwhelmed with gratitude for the family I have, blood relatives or not. Humbled barely covers it. I want to run out and make their lives as beautiful as mine is and make sure none of them ever want or hurt or struggle. How ashamed I am at the ungratefulness that I live in some days, the self-focus and the shallowness that I give in to. We lack absolutely nothing. We are so intensely spoiled that I can't imagine not finding ways to give back from our abundance. This is community. This is family. This is beautiful.
I know that my sister can attest to this from a bleak crisis in her life a couple of year ago, and even though Emmy being hit by a car and the truck breaking down and Josh not getting the job he wanted are all somewhat minor in the big scheme of this beautiful life, I cannot fathom the love that washes over us from every corner of the country. Who knew that bringing pizza to feed everybody the night we got home from Hawaii and were shell-shocked from Emmy's accident would be the most comforting thing in the world? Or a some money from a little brother and sister who probably didn't really need to being dropping money like that (maybe we can work it out to be a tax write off?). Or a perfectly-timed interest-free short-term loan from parents who would do anything to make sure their kids were not just ok, but good. Or one of Emmy's greatest fans offering to babysit her anytime during her recovery process. Or a kennel from a family friend who wants desperately to help make sure that sweet Emmy is going to be taken care of. Or a vet that writes off all of her time with the dog and channels us drugs for her at cost. Or an impromptu intervention from buddies that will not stand to see all the little stress fractures do lasting damage to our relationships. I cannot tell you how loved I feel right now. How completely blessed and humbled and overwhelmed with gratitude for the family I have, blood relatives or not. Humbled barely covers it. I want to run out and make their lives as beautiful as mine is and make sure none of them ever want or hurt or struggle. How ashamed I am at the ungratefulness that I live in some days, the self-focus and the shallowness that I give in to. We lack absolutely nothing. We are so intensely spoiled that I can't imagine not finding ways to give back from our abundance. This is community. This is family. This is beautiful.
 |
| "No man is a failure who has friends." -Clarence |
Things That We Can't Control
I am not even sure where to start.
We got back from Hawaii at 4:30 AM on Sunday. At 7:45 on Saturday we had discovered that Emmy was missing, snuck out of the gate in the back yard in the dark just before Ethan got home from work. By the time we hit San Francisco for a layover, we had a call from the Emergency Animal Hospital to let us know she was there, in pieces. She'd been hit by a car and left on the road, where a highscool student scooped her up in a sleeping bag and called the cops who transported her to the hospital. Pretty much her entire back half had been avulsed (i.e. skinned) and her hip was badly displaced, with major damage to all of the tendons and ligaments but, miraculously, no broken bones. Needless to say, Josh was a wreck. This horrific event was the chaser to the news he received in Hawaii that he didn't get his last hope for a fire job in Eugene. Talk about a bad week. I don't know if being in Hawaii was a flagrant dose of salt in the wound of repeated rejection, or a semi-pleasant distraction from the horror of being Josh. Hawaii is his favorite place, so my hope is that the sunshine absorbed at least some of the kick-in-the-gut for him, but we are home in the gray now, and it isn't pretty. Sleepless nights with a whimpering dog in constant pain, trolling craigslist and every contractor he knows for work, and 3.5 teenagers who can't seem to see past their petty issues about being blocked off Facebook and why their chores are the hardest. Keep in mind these kids got to go to hawaii too. How have I raised such self-involved children? Oh yeah, they're children. This self-absorption is precisely why they have parents - to help them realize that life will never be fair, and rarely be about them.
So this is the Lesson Of The Week, or Month, or so far, Year for the Westons: Some things are beyond our control. Sneaky black dogs, Whiny teenagers, lulls in work, the temperature outside. The only thing we have any power to fix sometimes is how we respond to what we are given, or have created, or stumble into. For example...
Only one day while we were in Hawaii was rainy. It was a warm, balmy rain, and even though that day involved a lot of walking and pain for me, there were several moments that I can recollect stopping to taste the bathwater rain and revel in the complete saturation of ocean air with warm water. I loved it. I guess if the entire week had been rainy, which might have gotten old, but the one day was glorious. The alternative to basking in the rain was despising it for "ruining" our plans, which consisted of taking 9 children with 6 adults on a 2 mile walk in the rain to the Waikiki Aquarium, which was pretty cool but less exciting than the penguin/turtle habitat at the Hilton. The walk was hijacked by a cloudburst that one of the babies insisted would ruin her hair, even though she isn't old enough to talk. The majority of the group holed up in the posh lobby of the Waikiki Westin Resort (we keep telling them that they spelled our name wrong), but I had gotten seperated from the group when I "accidentally" turned into a Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf for an iced coffee, which incidentally was the second best coffee that I had all week. I kind of needed the break in pace anyway, since my uterus was complaining about every pounding step on the sidewalk and my sister in law was leading with a stroller at a speed walk, lest baby's hair get ruined. I did hurry to catch up, but somehow missed the memo that we were blessing the Westin with our rambunctious hoard and I walked right on past, about three blocks. Obviously, being in pain, when I realized everyone had stopped to get out of the downpour, I couldn't handle the thought of all those extra steps back to the Hotel so I just decided to wait in place, which was conveniently a little collection of surf stores like Billabong and RVCA and stuff. See? It's all about your response. When life hands you lemons (in the form of tropical rain) you go shopping! I will say that if I hadn't ended up in BillaBong I might never have found my really cool new hat, so it was all meant to be. My dad had "accidentally" turned into a Ukelele shop that offered free lessons, and was carefully constructing a schedule for us to make it to every free Ukelele lesson on the Island in one day, so he also got disconnected from the group. Sister Susanna bailed on the barbarian hoard to meet up with me at Billabong, and that left my Josh, who was trying to redeem his apparent uselessness to the world through a babysitting penance that would make the Martyrs proud, with my brother and his wife and all 9 kids. In the Westin. Dripping wet. Obviously my brother and sister in law were preoccupied with fixing baby's hair, and that left Josh with the other 8. I don't know if you have met my sisters kids, but you've probably met mine, and I will leave the rest to your imagination. Or not.
Out of thriftiness or just plain inattention, I had failed to count the diapers we packed for Baby Ava, whom I call baby Livi since she is technically my namesake and I can do whatever I want. I don't know if being at the beach gave her motivation, but before we got half way to the aquarium she had literally peed the ocean into her diaper and I was forced to use the one clean one we had to save the world from drowning. I think I got a hernia just carrying the soggy diaper to the garbage can, which it probably broke. I should stop here and inform you that the reason we had all 8 kids is that my other sister and brother in law, along with my Super Adventurous Mom (I am actually totally proud of her) and Littlest Brother (who is 6'2" and not little) all went parasailing. This is a foolish undertaking in my opinion, since people die parasailing almost every day. Like those sisters in Florida. I would much rather skydive. At least then if you die you REALLY die. Hard. But back to us, the wandering jellyfish of uncontrollable juveniles. Once everybody (except baby with the aversion to precipitation) had decided that it was going to rain all day, they met up with me and Sanna at McDonalds, where we thought we could feed everybody off the dollar menu, which ended up being the $4 menu. So we all ate happy meals since they were $4.79 and came with a gymnast Sponge Bob toy. We made it to the Aquarium, soaking wet, laughing and only a little bit crabby by early afternoon, and saw everything there was to see within about 20 minutes, which is just as long as one can keep my youngest nephew from diving into the seal tank or eating a hermit crab. It was at this point we found out that Parasailing had been rescheduled for the next day, due to inclement weather, and we were ecstatic to host the barbarians once again, but with more diapers. My favorite at the aquarium was the Frog Fish, which has sea monkey hands and is really ugly, but was worth the $78 dollars we spent to get in. Or that's what I will maintain to avoid bitterness. By the time we were done, the sun was out, the rain had stopped, and the kids complained all the way home about being hot. I was in enough pain to justify letting the group (i.e. my josh and 8 kids) go on ahead while my dad and I waited for the rest of the grownups at our happy hour spot, which was conveniently located near 6 Ukelele shops. It's funny to me that this rainy day stands out as one of my favorites. This is probably partially due to the fact I got to shop a little and the fact that I made my Useful Husband ride herd on the kids, so I suffered the least collateral damage, other than the 2,000 lb diaper. But again, life is all about how we respond to things, and while the rain may have ruined Nenna's hair, I think it made the day memorable. And my hair SUPER curly.
I am off today, and get to take poor Emmy to the vet to have drain tubes removed from her incision. It is weird that I am an EMT and this stuff makes me queasy. I think I respond better to human's suffering than dogs. Unfortunately you can't look Emmy in the eye and say "see, this is why we don't play in streets at night when we are small and black" and have it mean anything. To her, this ordeal will always be a horrific, undeserved violation of the protection that we, as her humans, owe her. This is what Josh tortures himself with all day and through the night. But some things, we just can't control. We can only piece it together with as much grace and learning and hope as we can muster. One thing I have learned in my years of guilt driven living is that all of the self-loathing and flaggulation and remorse in the world can't change how things are. In some ways, all of that is an aspect of self-absorption that tries to make the bad situation all about "me" and how awful I am, rather than focusing on the real victim and trying to make it better. I grew up believing that any attention was good attention, even judgement and criticism and the more I drama up my failures the more pats on the head I got from those who were worthy to piously stand over me. I am past all of that now, and I still screw things up bad, but I am usually more interested in fixing them than getting attention for my failures. Usually. I have been working long days since we got back, which is good since my $.50/hr will really help toward the skyrocketing vet bills, but I feel so completely behind on EVERYTHING. Josh is getting the laundry caught up, god bless him, but I need to find an hour or two to unplug and decompress and tie up about a million loose ends, which my frazzled brain can't seem to weave together for anything right now. I think I will start with a shower and pretend that it's warm Hawaiian rain, making my hair curl and my skin clammy and making me stop and think about what is beautiful around me. Or maybe I will just put on my new hat.
We got back from Hawaii at 4:30 AM on Sunday. At 7:45 on Saturday we had discovered that Emmy was missing, snuck out of the gate in the back yard in the dark just before Ethan got home from work. By the time we hit San Francisco for a layover, we had a call from the Emergency Animal Hospital to let us know she was there, in pieces. She'd been hit by a car and left on the road, where a highscool student scooped her up in a sleeping bag and called the cops who transported her to the hospital. Pretty much her entire back half had been avulsed (i.e. skinned) and her hip was badly displaced, with major damage to all of the tendons and ligaments but, miraculously, no broken bones. Needless to say, Josh was a wreck. This horrific event was the chaser to the news he received in Hawaii that he didn't get his last hope for a fire job in Eugene. Talk about a bad week. I don't know if being in Hawaii was a flagrant dose of salt in the wound of repeated rejection, or a semi-pleasant distraction from the horror of being Josh. Hawaii is his favorite place, so my hope is that the sunshine absorbed at least some of the kick-in-the-gut for him, but we are home in the gray now, and it isn't pretty. Sleepless nights with a whimpering dog in constant pain, trolling craigslist and every contractor he knows for work, and 3.5 teenagers who can't seem to see past their petty issues about being blocked off Facebook and why their chores are the hardest. Keep in mind these kids got to go to hawaii too. How have I raised such self-involved children? Oh yeah, they're children. This self-absorption is precisely why they have parents - to help them realize that life will never be fair, and rarely be about them.
So this is the Lesson Of The Week, or Month, or so far, Year for the Westons: Some things are beyond our control. Sneaky black dogs, Whiny teenagers, lulls in work, the temperature outside. The only thing we have any power to fix sometimes is how we respond to what we are given, or have created, or stumble into. For example...
Only one day while we were in Hawaii was rainy. It was a warm, balmy rain, and even though that day involved a lot of walking and pain for me, there were several moments that I can recollect stopping to taste the bathwater rain and revel in the complete saturation of ocean air with warm water. I loved it. I guess if the entire week had been rainy, which might have gotten old, but the one day was glorious. The alternative to basking in the rain was despising it for "ruining" our plans, which consisted of taking 9 children with 6 adults on a 2 mile walk in the rain to the Waikiki Aquarium, which was pretty cool but less exciting than the penguin/turtle habitat at the Hilton. The walk was hijacked by a cloudburst that one of the babies insisted would ruin her hair, even though she isn't old enough to talk. The majority of the group holed up in the posh lobby of the Waikiki Westin Resort (we keep telling them that they spelled our name wrong), but I had gotten seperated from the group when I "accidentally" turned into a Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf for an iced coffee, which incidentally was the second best coffee that I had all week. I kind of needed the break in pace anyway, since my uterus was complaining about every pounding step on the sidewalk and my sister in law was leading with a stroller at a speed walk, lest baby's hair get ruined. I did hurry to catch up, but somehow missed the memo that we were blessing the Westin with our rambunctious hoard and I walked right on past, about three blocks. Obviously, being in pain, when I realized everyone had stopped to get out of the downpour, I couldn't handle the thought of all those extra steps back to the Hotel so I just decided to wait in place, which was conveniently a little collection of surf stores like Billabong and RVCA and stuff. See? It's all about your response. When life hands you lemons (in the form of tropical rain) you go shopping! I will say that if I hadn't ended up in BillaBong I might never have found my really cool new hat, so it was all meant to be. My dad had "accidentally" turned into a Ukelele shop that offered free lessons, and was carefully constructing a schedule for us to make it to every free Ukelele lesson on the Island in one day, so he also got disconnected from the group. Sister Susanna bailed on the barbarian hoard to meet up with me at Billabong, and that left my Josh, who was trying to redeem his apparent uselessness to the world through a babysitting penance that would make the Martyrs proud, with my brother and his wife and all 9 kids. In the Westin. Dripping wet. Obviously my brother and sister in law were preoccupied with fixing baby's hair, and that left Josh with the other 8. I don't know if you have met my sisters kids, but you've probably met mine, and I will leave the rest to your imagination. Or not.
 |
| babyliviaspennennadoodahtoomanykids |
I am off today, and get to take poor Emmy to the vet to have drain tubes removed from her incision. It is weird that I am an EMT and this stuff makes me queasy. I think I respond better to human's suffering than dogs. Unfortunately you can't look Emmy in the eye and say "see, this is why we don't play in streets at night when we are small and black" and have it mean anything. To her, this ordeal will always be a horrific, undeserved violation of the protection that we, as her humans, owe her. This is what Josh tortures himself with all day and through the night. But some things, we just can't control. We can only piece it together with as much grace and learning and hope as we can muster. One thing I have learned in my years of guilt driven living is that all of the self-loathing and flaggulation and remorse in the world can't change how things are. In some ways, all of that is an aspect of self-absorption that tries to make the bad situation all about "me" and how awful I am, rather than focusing on the real victim and trying to make it better. I grew up believing that any attention was good attention, even judgement and criticism and the more I drama up my failures the more pats on the head I got from those who were worthy to piously stand over me. I am past all of that now, and I still screw things up bad, but I am usually more interested in fixing them than getting attention for my failures. Usually. I have been working long days since we got back, which is good since my $.50/hr will really help toward the skyrocketing vet bills, but I feel so completely behind on EVERYTHING. Josh is getting the laundry caught up, god bless him, but I need to find an hour or two to unplug and decompress and tie up about a million loose ends, which my frazzled brain can't seem to weave together for anything right now. I think I will start with a shower and pretend that it's warm Hawaiian rain, making my hair curl and my skin clammy and making me stop and think about what is beautiful around me. Or maybe I will just put on my new hat.
 |
| me and dad. "resting" (i.e hiding from kids) at the aquarium. |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)