Things You Can Do

All that jazz about "if you can dream it, you can do it!" and "she thought she could so she did..." and stuff like that? They always forget to tell you about the hard work and the snail's pace crawl on the way there.

I'm not really hoping to get rich quick, although that would be nice. I am not even planning on any sort of early retirement, or living in the lap of luxury, or any lap for that matter.

But I'm always looking for the right door to open, or in some cases, window that I have to crawl through. Like a thief. Stealing my destiny.

Today was a window. Not a door. It was one stumbling step along the way to get to the place that I believe I will eventually wind up.

Today I signed some papers and did some promising with big smiles and weighty commitments for two more part time jobs. That brings me to four total part time jobs. None of which pay very well, but most of which I don't really mind doing. And I am thankful for them. All of them.

Sometimes, right in the middle of a promise to not let down the person that is offering me minimum wage, it occurs to me that I should do more. Be more. It's great that the struggle is real. But the Real is exhausting. It's not that I am unwilling to do it, or ungrateful for the work. But I am juggling a lot of things and that alone speaks to a talent that should at least come with a paid vacation. But not quite yet. Maybe over the next hill. Or through the next window.

Today was a melancholy day of harsh realizations and slight let downs. But it wasn't a bad day.

It snowed. And we saw the biggest Whitetail Buck I have ever seen. He was so big he had half a Christmas tree tangled in his antlers when he stepped out of the snowy woods. He was totally Bambi's dad. And he somehow survived late buck season. Shortly thereafter, following my friend on the dark snowy road home from middle school basketball in Curlew, she hit a cougar. A mountain lion. With her car. We couldn't find it, or the body, in the dark, but partially because we were too afraid to look very hard. But still. A cougar. In the snow. On the road. And a Very Large Buck. And a middle school basketball game. And snow. And a big stein of Very Good Beer. Overall, I came out on top.

Things About Doing the Right Things

Every day we are faced with choices. We have the opportunity to do the Right Thing. Or the Wrong Thing. Either way, there will be consequences. The severity of those consequences and the determination of whether they are good or bad consequences rests squarely on the choices we make.

For example, today I was faced with several ethical dilemmas that required me to discern between good and evil.

It started with getting out of bed. History and Mothers tell us that getting out of bed early is prudent. Even Benjamin Franklin, AKA Poor Richard, exhorted: "Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise." Despite it's singsongy excellence, this rhetoric has yet to take hold of my soul with the conviction that it should. Because in spite of every morning when I have been up before the sun, I am neither healthier, wealthier, or wiser. And some of the most profound learning I have done has happened in the wee hours, just ask anybody who has had to route the drunks from the bar at 3:30 AM. So I made the choice to stay in bed. The consequence of this action, directly, was an entirely cold house. I can easily cast blame upon the other four humans that reside here, since all of them had gotten out of bed and already left for school and my favorite child, NOONE had taken it upon herself to reload the pellet stove. My bad choice was overcome by my cold hands, which can't seem to get warm no matter how far under the covers I keep them. The only remedy was a hot cup of coffee.

The second ethical quandary that I faced today happened around breakfast time, which also doubled as lunch since I successfully avoided eating until after I had done MANY loads of laundry, made a slew of phone calls I had been putting off and finally got dressed. Just like most days in my closet, my refrigerator stared back at me with a BIG FAT nothing to eat. So I decided to just go without. Until the shakes set in, and then I ate a half pound of sharp cheddar cheese and some M&Ms, because this day, bad choices are the theme.

I went to work in the afternoon, and survived a lesson in evaluating the angles and types of triangles with a 9th grader, which very nearly made my head explode. Somehow we both survived and I came  home and did more laundry.

Now it's almost dinner time. There are two important issues weighing on me. I have some green peppers that I really need to use up and planned on making chicken fajitas for dinner. Normally this sounds awesome. But today, being a cheese-and-chocolate themed day, I can't fight the craving for something hot and baked and gooey and cheesy and totally terrible for me. Once again, my hedonism championed over my frugal sensibility and the green peppers will probably meet their fateful demise in the compost. The trouble with green peppers is that I really don't like them in anything but fajitas. I can't stand them in soup or pizza, or even in the gooey cheesy green chile and chicken and rice bake that I am making instead of fajitas. I should just man up and put them in there, but the flavor... ugh. Does my dislike of green pepper outweigh the guilt of wasting them???? The second issue, which could directly correspond to the first, or at least make it easier to decide, is the fact that I have an EMT meeting tonight and I really can't start drinking wine until afterward. Or SHOULDN'T start drinking wine until afterward. If I put the green peppers in the chicken bake, can I have wine early? Like buying an indulgence...

Not that it really helps to not have wine before the meeting. Chances are I will fight to stay awake either way. We're going over musculoskeletal injuries, and I feel as though I have had enough of those for the week, thankyouverymuch.

All of the decisions we make are based out of our own personal value systems. For me, I value sleep, cheese and wine over prudence, weightloss and propriety. Like I said before, I am a hedonist. With all of the values that correspond. In addition to food and laziness, things that are important to me are family and friends. And I would even endure a wine-less Thanksgiving to be with the people I love. Sometimes those are the choices we have to make, and they teach us what it is that is truly important to us. On the mornings that I have work to go to, to pay the bills and take care of my family, I get out of bed. If I was married to a green pepper lover, I would put green peppers in stuff. And if being with my family meant no booze for the holidays, I guess I would choose that too. Or get really sneaky. (JUST KIDDING MOM! GEEZE.)

I know the things that are important to me. And most days I think I do pretty well at making choices. Obviously, we all make the Wrong Ones sometimes. I have yet to meet someone who never makes poor choices. And if you have, I would caution you to back away slowly, then run. Because bad choices make all the good ones sweeter. Little triumphs in life, that remind us that we are strong and we are sure and we CAN do the right thing. After 5 more minutes of sleep.

Things To Prepare For

Yesterday I was the kindergarten teacher. Most of you are probably cooing in your heads about those cute little cherubs and singing songs and playing games. But if you know me, you know that I have great difficulty getting past the boogers smeared on each and every surface in the K-1 room, and really don't have much of an affinity for anything under 13 years old that isn't a puppy.

But today was good. It was much less germy than all of my worst nightmares, and  the kids were all remarkably well behaved. After surviving my first full day in the K-1 classroom, there are a few things that I wasn't entirely prepared for, emotionally mostly. So, out of the goodness of my heart, I thought I would share those things with you. Either to prepare you for your own K-1 experience, or just life in general, because everything you need to know, you can learn from a Kindergartner. Or that's what they say.

1) Just because they raise their hands, doesn't mean they have something to say. Be careful who you listen to.

2) The lead in a colored pencil is infinitely softer than the surrounding wood, and creates many tear-filled adventures around the pencil sharpener. Sometimes a gentler approach gets the job done more successfully. Or just use effing crayons.

3) Picking you nose and eating it never killed anybody. YET.

4) Growing bodies cannot be still for more than 15 seconds. Attempting longer term stillness could result in spontaneous combustion, violent seizure activity and/or vocal implosion. This is an ironic contrast to older people, who grow larger in proportion to their maintained stillness. One of life's many inverted relationships.

5) Stickers fix everything. (Tell me this isn't still true. I dare you! Dutch Bros has this one dialed in.)

6) If you put anything to music, you will never be able to get it out of your head. EVER.

7) Making kids stay in from recess for misbehavior is probably going to be more punishment for you than it is for them. This is practice for the teenage years, when anything you do to them inflicts cruel and unjust inconveniences on you, whether the kids learn anything or not. (I found a way around this as a substitute High School teacher the other day when I wrote my own dear daughter a yellow slip for her insolence [HA! TAKE THAT, SMART ONE! I CAN'T GROUND YOU BUT I CAN PUT YOU INTO DETENTION!!!!] Total win on my part. Sorry to the solutions lady at school...)

8) When all else fails, color. And don't be that one kid that will only use black. Because I mean, seriously.

9) Maybe the kinders can't read yet. But if you think about the fact that last year, the first graders couldn't read, and now they can actually tell the difference between the number 7 and a capital R, dude, they're working miracles in there. Be patient.

10) Every dirty little kid is a product of the people around him, for better or worse. Be the better.


It is my firm belief that every early elementary teacher should be nominated for sainthood or an insanity plea. The ones that work tirelessly for an entire career span are my personal heroes. Give me the blood and guts of EMS and the drama and intrigue High School or even unemployment and professional questionability, because I couldn't do it. But they do. Gracefully, endlessly. Day after day they shape our littles into the next workforce. The next generation. Our future. God bless 'em.

Things About Today

All of the best things in the world: beards, banjos and badass sunglasses. And a song that never gets old... especially today.

Things About Girls. And Beer.

It was a long time coming. Last year sometime, so long ago that I don't remember when, me and a bestie met up with my Aunt and cousin for a girls beer night in Spokane at No-Li brewing. Turns out that there is this group of gals in the Spokane area that set up micro-brew-centric events for GIRLS that like beer. We had a blast then, and I mentioned to the ring-leader that they should travel north for a visit to Northern Ales in the lovely town of Kettle Falls. Northern Ales started in Northport, and I won't lie - I pretty much lived there for a little while... but even after they relocated I retain a hometown loyalty toward them. Not to mention they make some pretty stellar beer.

Anyway, long story short, we finally set a date and sold a few tickets, and the Inland Northwest chapter of Girls Pint Out hosted a road trip to Northern Ales. So as it turns out, mid November, with sub-freezing temperatures, can be somewhat of a deterrent for a 2+ hour drive in the dark with the intention of drinking. I get it. So when only two girls from Spokane showed up, we did the only reasonable thing: overcompensate with our local presence. They kept trickling in, until we had almost a dozen gals, from many different places and walks of life. It was a fun group. And the beer...

Most Girl's Pint Out events involve beer sampling. Sometimes with food pairings, and a brewery tour, etc. Steve and Andrea at Northern Ales stepped this one up a little bit. We were each provided with a taster glass and the beer list, complete with wordy descriptions of the brews that used terms like "creamy mouthfeel", strategically placed toward the bottom of the list so that you've had enough beer that this provides ample middle-schoolish giggling. The beer was delivered to the table by the pitcherful. I don't know if you have ever calculated how many taster/shot glasses you can fill from a pitcher of beer, but with 10 beers on tap (or was it 11? I lost count after 4) that equated about a pitcher of beer apiece. And this is no lite beer.

Steve took us on a whirlwind tour of the brewery (which we were technically sitting smack dab in the middle of) between sets of the concert that his band, the Northern Aliens was playing. Talk about a man of many talents! He can play drums, brew beer AND tolerate a bunch of rosy-cheeked, beer-officianato, middle-schoolesque girls on a tour. He's a winner in my book. 

In addition to A LOT of beer, we got some of the best chips and salsa on the market, the brewpub's "Soggy Snacky" (a creative moniker for crostini with oil and vinegar), and a couple of pizzas that were seriously to die for. I have never eaten anything at Northern Ales that I didn't want to dedicate an entire blog to, much less my whole diet plan.

The giggling set in when we were about 3.75 pitchers deep - part of the way through the tour when we witnessed a couple emerging from one of the coed bathrooms together. I mean, the sign says...

It was a great night. With great food, great company and AMAZING BEER. I could easily do that once a month. Or week. Or every night. If I could somehow relinquish the necessity of daily functionality.

Check out Girl's Pint Out on Facebook - there are some awesome upcoming events, like a hockey game in January, that I CANNOT wait for. If you aren't from the Great North Best, no harm, no foul - there are regional GPO chapters all over the place. Look it up in your area. It's a great way to meet other crazy girls and get in on some sweet beer-oriented deals.

Things About Wearing A Lot of Hats

The last few weeks have been a whirlwind of working. Going and doing and being, a lot of things all at once. I have switched hats on the run (literally) from Kindergarten Teaching Aid, to waitress, to High School Drama Teacher, to EMT, to Wanna Be Writer, to Special Ed Teacher, to Mom, to Sister, To Friend and sometimes, if I get my way at all, I get to wear my Sweatpants and Wine Hat at home on the couch.

Yesterday was no different from the rest. I worked at the restaurant all day and then went home and made dinner, did some laundry, and went out to visit some friends and the last remaining bar in town. It was a difficult decision to make, since I had fallen prey to my heated mattress pad in the late afternoon and was pretty much hunkered down for the night with a rental on Amazon. But the friends were persistent, and the movie was pretty terrible. I made the mistake of assuming that any Russell Crowe movie is gonna be good, especially if he is paired up with Jennifer Connelly, like in A Beautiful Mind, but Noah wasn't helping the Doldrums that seem to be pursuing me relentlessly, so I gave up, or gave in, and put some jeans on and went to Kuks. I am glad I did. Funny how those little choices can have life altering ramifications.

There was a rowdy crowd there for the darts tournament, including a bunch of hunters and some not-local guys who are working on a contract up here indefinitely. Most of these guys have been in the Mustang at one point or another, so I knew them by face if not name. As soon as I walked in a few of them recognized me as the morning coffee pourer, etc. They made fun of the red wine that I was dragging my way through, but I had been to the brew pub the night before and, well, I just can't do two nights in a row like that any more. After awhile some of them disappeared, and shortly thereafter, one of my friends came to get me. Urgently.

One of the visiting lads had taken a swan dive out of the sunroof of his moving vehicle. He had landed on his face, and when I got to him, he was wedged into the backseat of his pickup, bleeding everywhere, with some very frightened friends around him. I told them to call 911 as soon as I saw him. He'd done a good job tearing the right side of his face off, including his ear. I sent random strangers to my car to get my bags while I held onto his bleeding head, only imagining what the inside looked  like if the outside had sustained this much damage. Not to mention his spine. He was conscious, and talking to me. Which was a relief. The position we were scrunched in the vehicle was eerily similar to the crash scenario we had just done at the school. Head injury and all. I got some semi-drunk volunteers to get a backboard wedged in behind him and we rolled him up on the bench. My hands never left his torn up face. This was one of those times that I wish that I could do more. The kids that were there with him (they were all in their early 20s) had sobered up quickly at the sight of his dangling ear. I talked a couple of them through how to hook up my oxygen tank, only to find out that it was empty. In the 45 minutes that we waited for the ambulance, I went over and over in my head how dumb it was that this good looking 22 year old kid had been sitting in the Mustang this morning, drinking coffee, and now he was on his way to plastic surgery, at the VERY least, and lucky to be alive. For a few minutes of drunken stupidity. I wished to God that I had three sets of hands - there were so many other things that maybe I could have done. Or more supplies. Or any kind of help or preparedness. These are the moments that highlight our lack as a tiny, underfunded town. And our helplessness as humans to undo even one bad decision. The ambulance got there after what seemed like forever, and we got him successfully transferred. Later, his buddy called me to say that, sure enough, he had a spine fracture and had been flown by helicopter to Spokane. Even so, he's a lucky dude. Lucky and dumb. I went home with blood on my hands and jacket and shoes and woke MacKenzie up to tell her that I would rather see her never drive a car than to forget for an instant that they are deadly weapons. I hope the kid's face comes back together ok. He is a handsome boy. But he'll never be completely intact again. And maybe that's how some of us have to learn. It makes me sad. And Angry. And feel very small and helpless. I liked him better when I was his coffee pourer and not the person holding his face together.

Tomorrow I go back to Kindergarten. Where the responsibility is no less than it is in the back of that truck. Because somewhere along the way, the kids have to learn about good decisions and bad ones. And really, the responsibility is always there, even pouring coffee, to be kind, and to be wise, and to make good choices that other people see. It doesn't matter how many hats I wear, my job is really the same. I am thankful for ALL of my jobs, every role I play, because even on the days when I pretend to be a teacher, I am fairly certain that I am learning more than anybody.

Things About Nothing

I felt kind of nothing-ish today. 

Like maybe I need some vitamin D and/or a BIG glass of wine, because... meh. 

I went to work and it was a busy day. I probably covered about 16 miles in a 200 square foot room and that's a lot. My legs and feet are telling me about it now. 

I came home, and since there were no children here to be annoyed with, I became annoyed with myself and took a nap, which was pretty awesome, but still, the nothingness woke me up with that nagging, whiny voice. 

I killed two large black spiders in the bathtub that I am fairly certain were doing a mating ritual of some sort, and probably as a result have staved off a generation of Evil from haunting my bathroom. That accomplishment in and of itself really warrants a reward for the day. Like cheesecake. Or a big bowl of macaroni and cheese. Or something terrible like that. But those things seem terribly far out of reach. Or at least out of my bed and away from the heated mattress bad that has become affixed to my body like a cocoon. I may not emerge all winter. Maybe I should be hibernating. Maybe I will emerge like a butterfly, all bright and svelte and not BLAH. And deadpan. And lacking color and life like the nothingness of today. 

Maybe tomorrow will be a something kind of day. I think I will make it so. 

Things That I Am (NOT) Mad About

This is the month that gratitude is supposed to be extra important, so, true to my rebellious form, gratitude happens to be the thing that I am struggling with the most at the moment. In fact, instead of feeling thankful, I have been all crabby and mad at the world. For all of the ways in which it seeks to rip me off. But after about 15 minutes (ok, maybe like three days), I can't even stand to be around myself, because that's just unpleasant. So, in an effort to be less unpleasant, or at least be able to stand myself...

We only had one customer at work last night, and he kind of creeped me out when he asked to touch my hands to see if they were as soft as he thought... but I got to go home early, so I am not even mad.

I had to comb head lice out of one of my kid's (who shall remain nameless) hair last night. I don't do hair. Especially licey hair. But the rest  of the monsters were totally lice-free. One out of four ain't bad, so I am not even mad.

Aspen hates to take showers, but, on the fateful lice-quest last night, she had the healthiest, cleanest scalp by far. Dirty kids for the win. I am not even mad. 

One of the middle children (who shall also remain nameless) had a pretty bad Nattitude last night. But taking away and iPod and grounding her reminded me that I am still a mom and not entirely powerless. And I wasn't even mad. 

After 37 family meetings about using Everybody Else's towels/toothbrushes/razors, last night Uyen and Natalee realized that they were inadvertently using the same towel, and Aspen and MacKenzie discovered that they were advertently (on one part) using the same toothbrush, and maybe, FINALLY, we will have a breakthrough, since they were all grossing out about sharing towels and toothbrushes (THIS IS WHAT I HAVE BEEN SAYING ALL ALONG!) I win. And I am not even mad. 

And after countless lectures about the Importance Of Doing Chores, even when mom is at work, last night was the Height of Fail in this area. I made them help me with All Of the Undone Chores to the tune of much stomping and door slamming. But ultimately, I got some stuff put away. So I am not even mad. 

Every bad thing has a good side. Like cleaning your house really well and washing ALL OF THE BEDDING several times in a couple of weeks, because, you know, the lice. And not having work sometimes makes the bills seems scary but, hey - couch time? I can dig it. And if your heart was never broken, and the one you loved never hurt you, then you would never know how to grow stronger and be better and how important it is to hunt for real love. Selfless love. Chase it down and live in it. Be it. And let it grow up around you, and overtake you. And you might live your whole life in nowheresville - except for the hurts that chase you out. And the troubles that make you fight. So for all of the bad things, and all of the battles lost. All of the fails. I am not even mad.

Things To Remember.

Things About Judgement

Head Lice.

Misbehaving Kids.

Failed Marriage.

Weight Gain.

Alcohol.

Self Indulgence.

Poor Money Management.

Bad Taste In Men.

Spiritual Floundering.

The line gets blurry between what they (the outsiders) judge me for, and what I judge myself for. But there's always judgement, isn't there? And where it leaves off, guilt takes over. And there's always the "friend" that will gross out at your head lice instead of bringing the much needed wine. And there's always the family that knows that some things, you just can't control. But still, the judgement. And the guilt.

Part of me wants to crawl into a cave and hide. Part of me wants to give them the finger and leave a family of lice on their pillow. But the rest of me knows that I am just like them. Imperfect, slightly insane. Struggling to make it all work. The only difference is that I have a Moscow Mule in my hand, and I am just gonna shake it off... to annoy you.

Things About Running Away

I'd had enough. Enough of the caterwauling. Enough yelling. Squealing. Snapping. Judging. Girls. Enough. I got up at 6:03 AM to go to Spokane so the doctor could tell me that my shoulder wouldn't get better unless I have a surgery that I don't have insurance for. And the girls. So many girls. Extra girls. I only had two with me, including a spare I borrowed. But I came home to two more. And shrieking. And giggling. And it just. Wouldn't. Quit. 

So I ran away.

Not to girls night and wine  

Not to taco Tuesday.

Not to a drug induced stupor in my bed. 

I ran away to HOCKEY. 

I even took a boy. He wasn't mine. I had to borrow him. But he was willing enough. 

And on the way there was a car upside down in the ditch, lights still on. No body. No blood. No one to save. So onward we pushed. Into the icy, far northern reaches of southernmost Canada. 

We missed the entire first period. But it was worth it. Braving the icy roads, and Canadian Drivers. And American drivers who use being American as an excuse to drive badly in Canada. It was worth the $13 Canadian which used to only be like $10 in American but might be $20 now, I am not even sure. 

The boy and I talked. My borrowed boy. Pseudo-son. Aiden, whom I call Spock, for reasons quite obvious to anyone who knows him. And it isn't his pointed ears. We settled the issue once and finally that girls are dumb. That dating in high school is dumb. That movies are cool. And so is hockey, and hunting camp. And there is really no reason to squeal. Ever. 

And there was cold Canadian Beer. It was good. And a zamboni. And no Shinny Allowed. I don't even know what Shinny is but I am pretty sure I am glad there wasn't any, although at some point I will investigate it's origin. And $2 (Canadian) bags of gummy candies. And the Pseudo-son Spock wandered around and left me in peace with my beer. And the mascot, who is oddly a Panda bear, felt my need for silent camaraderie, and he stood by me. And when does a Panda Bear standing next to you not fix everything? 

The Smokeys lost, but it was a good game. And the first of many this winter. To make up for all of the ones I said I would go to last year and didn't. It was a good night. And a good running away. And when I came back, there were all the girls. With the squealing. And the noise. But I felt better.

Things About Having Coffee

Today I had coffee with my sister. For anyone who doesn't understand the depth of that concise sentence, let me explain: coffee with one's sister, assuming that the aforementioned sister is doing her God-ordained job, is the cost-free equivalent of a session with a psychologist, a lawyer and Hedda Hopper (yesterday's answer to Perez Hilton), all rolled into one. In a brief couple of hours, all of the world's crises concerning rebellious teenagers, belligerent grade schoolers, inscrutable husbands/ex-husbands & friends (as appropriate), unsuitable matches, compelling vices (coffee creamers, Rasperitas with OJ, running away, etc.), and rapidly degenerating bodies were answered. Probably not fixed, but answered.

Just the very act of "Having Coffee" lends a therapeutic and nostalgic flavor to the afternoon, as if we were our very own Mother and Mrs. Mannan, or someone, which brings with it the reminder that it isn't just sisters, that "Having Coffee" with will divulge all of these social remedies. It's any girl, or maybe boy, if you find the right (or maybe left) one, that GETS you. "Having Coffee" with your sister/soul sister/GBF (thanks, Jesse) gives you the opportunity to vent about the injustice of having to make your own pot of coffee since The Other Party didn't do it before he left for work. Or maybe you can casually get that one recipe again that she's given you 8 times because you never save it, since you know she'll send it to you. AGAIN. Or maybe the heart to heart moment when you both confess to each other the unknown, but shared, issue of adrenaline rushes at second hand stores that make you have to poop immediately. Since this discussion I have noticed the trend in my children, indicating a generational/congenital problem. With a sister, over coffee, you don't find yourself having to explain what it means to "Indian/Davy Crockett" wrestle over some cool wooden trucks she found on the classified. You don't even really have to spend time rehashing the fact that when you arrived the kids were vacuuming baked beans from a broken crockpot on the floor, which was really just the precursor to a house sized cloud of drywall dust from a broken vacuum cleaner bag. Because with sisters, those things just take a Knowing Look. Like, "did I tell you about my applesauce?" with no words. But you can both bask in the glory that is the new single serve cups from Dutch Bros, combined with heavy whipping cream and peppermint Torani, and a sprinkling of drywall dust. And really, that broken crockpot? Good riddance. Somehow it had been labelled with a last name, which is potluck cardinal sin #1, removing all anonymity from the selection and dictating wholehearted responsibility to the cook with the labeled crock pot, Pinterest Fail or not. You just DON'T put your name on a crockpot. Ever. All of this occurred to me as I was boiling chicken for the recipe that she has sent me at least 37 times, and skimming the "impurities" off of the churning chicken broth. My mom always called them impurities. One of those things I have never questioned, that I would never have to explain to my sister, but daughters stare at me incredulously when I say. You skim off the impurities. Always. As if the reckless chicken had lived a life of hedonistic pleasure and we were forced to rid our soup of the remnants. I shudder to think of the impurities that I would render, if boiled. I hope to never realize those fears. Boiling OR revealing my impurities.

Anyway, it was a kind of terrible Monday, with no excuse really, since I got a job offer, and The Wonderful Timothy Davis fixed Halle's car and wouldn't let me pay, and things were not generally wrong, but there was still the undertone of terrible. Like the Direct TV guy showing up and telling me in no uncertain terms that there is NO Line Of Sight at my house and I will NEVER have television. And the Love of My Life once again refusing to show his face. And raking wet leaves. And moving cold, wet, muddy lawn furniture and bikes into the shed. And bemoaning the wasted and "beautiful golden transparent" apples that still hang, unreachable in the tree, serene and picturesque. And full body aches that may or may not be related to being inexcusably out of shape and/or raking wet leaves But coffee with my sister made it all better, or at least laughable.

Things I Am Going to Whine About

You've been warned. Don't pretend like you wandered in here all blissfully ignorant. The Whining was foretold.

Every inch of my body hurts.

Aspen is trying to make macaroni and cheese and wants me to check and see if the water is  "bubbling aggressively" enough for her to add the noodles, and the mere thought of moving that far is Totally Overwhelming. I refuse to give any energy to the thought that the body aches that have been chasing me for the last week could be the flu bug that is going around, although calling in sick to life sound a little heavenly. But I will wait until my TV gets installed tomorrow.

Yesterday between shifts at work I was driving home and got through most of Northport before I realized that I was driving in the wrong lane. The scary part was that I couldn't remember which lane was the right one. I think my brain is running on fumes.

I made it through a really ridiculous weekend, including an all-nighter with the high school drama stars. Actually I don't know if any of them are in drama. But there is always drama. I was the designated, self-inflicted, chaperone of the girls. It was 1:30 AM before we successfully got all of the boys and girls drawn out of dark outdoor corners, separated and into sleeping bags, or parts of sleeping bags, since apparently only 5% of teenagers know how to pack for an all-nighter. I had my sleeping bag, a foam pad of questionable origin, and no sweatpants, because I had secretly hoped to weasel my way out of chaperoning all night. Fail. I watched the clock All Night (technically morning) long until 7:03 when I got up and drove MacKenzie to work and got into my own bed and slept for a couple of hours. In spite of all of the teenage crises transpiring, the height of intensity for me was when I checked my Fitbit. After working two restaurant shifts that day, a total of 14 hours, I was super excited to see how many miles I had run. And fantasize about the the desserts I could eat if only there were desserts to be had. Anyway, the stupid thing said I had walked a quarter mile. 0.26 of a mile. I was livid. Absolutely distraught. Until I realized that it was 12:15 and my Fitbit reset at midnight. So really, I had walked a quarter mile just in the first fifteen minutes of the new day. Yeah. I am awesome like that.

So today is the day I try to remember who lives in this house of chaos and destruction and deal with the separation anxiety issues of three needy dogs and four detached girls. It started out well when I walked face first into a giant spider web in my sliding door. An attractive orange and white popcorn spider met a swift demise by screen door guillotine, as pulled spider webs off of my face and hair.

I went and got a coffee from Kizzie at Your Way Latte, who made it PERFECTLY my way, which might be the first time that has happened there, and now I am eating Aspen's macaroni, since the water was bubbling aggressively enough.