I really don’t have a clever wrapup of my year this time. It was awesome, it sucked, it got awesome again and then it really hit the shitter. I’m on my way back up again, but it’s slow going. Turns out when you already have anxiety disorder, depression doesn’t have the “usual” symptoms. I can function, I just can’t concentrate on certain things.
There will be no “change my life” resolutions this time around. I’ve had enough lifechange in the last few months, thankyouverymuch. No goals, no weightloss, nada.
Just me, living life the best I can.
What I learned this year: I suck at social networking. I still don’t know what I wanna be when I grow up. Great ideas fly out of my brain at lightning speed, but the followup sucks. Limits: I has them. Public schooling ain’t so bad when the alternative is losing what’s left of your mind. I think I might kinda sorta wanna have another baby. (maybe) (yes, I know there are no anxiety meds for pregnant women.) I don’t do all that well at conventions after all.
I finally started spending some money on vanities - hair and nails. Well, getting them PROFESSIONALLY done. Getting my hair professionally colored = awesome. The jury is still out on the nails (I absolutely adore the way my hands look. But $36/mo is a bit pricey for vanity, innit?)
One of my weird quirks finally gets a seal of approval from WiseBread.com. I grew up soppin’ - as in “I packed this for lunch at school” grew up. When I was in elementary school THE THING was autograph books, and I actually had someone to sign mine “I like you even though you dunk bread in soup“.
It’s funny, the things you remember thirty years later.
And now, I have a houseful of teens to mobilize, laundry to shuffle around, a livingroom to clean and floors to mop, so I’ll leave you with a word of wisdom from My Mamaw.
It’s a grand world, iff’n you don’t weaken.
laundry and some vomit to clean….
The boys have spent the last two days on the futon mattress in the floor in front of the TV. It’s both unnerving (they’re both laying!!! and not fighting!!! OHMYGOODNESS IT’S THE SEVENTH SIGN!) and a relief (no fights to break up? SCORE!). On one hand I’d like the Dr. to confirm my suspicion that it’s a mild case of fifths disease. On the other hand, I really do NOT want to bring home whatever bugs are lurking in the doctor’s office. Therefore, the only logical thing to do is take them in if they get worse. I’m not sure if I’m glad or chagrined that this happened right at Christmas break. YAY! they won’t get behind in school. BOO I do not want to clean up puke on Christmas Day. (Assuming, of course, that he’s still puking day after tomorrow. I know, it’s highly unlikely. But it COULD happen.)
Why do I have a futon mattress on the floor in my livingroom? Funny you should ask. My Sainted Mama decided that my (comfy but so ugly that kidspills don’t make my head explode) double-reclining sofa was just.too.ugly to stay here. A family friend was clearing out their storage area and Mama fell in love with the sofa we now have. And it is a veritable nightmare, reminiscent of the old-school days when homes had a parlor full of furniture that nobody but “company” would use. The good news is the embroidered floral pattern hides spills MUCH better than my sofa did - but that’s pretty much the only good thing about it.
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I found a pediatric dentist that takes our insurance AND that Daniel will open his mouth for AND that got in, got done and got out before Daniel could get to full-on freakout mode. He was pretty weirded-out when the numbing shot went in, and that just snowballed as his lip and tongue “feels WEIRD MOMMY!” I think we’re in for another 2-3 visits (one for each quadrant of the mouth) and then we’ll be on track for the normal 6-month cleanings. Now to get Joe on that treadmill…
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About those goals for 2008 - Yeaaaaaah, no. Travelled to Mamaw’s house and that was it. My GPA is up slightly - sort-of. My brother came home with his family for Daddy’s funeral. There was no snowflaking. None of the other stuff “in the back of my mind” got done. And I’m done with setting myself up like that. If anything happens, TRUST ME you’ll hear about a good 25% or so of it.
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Last but not least (for the moment) I leave you with: Grocery Store Schizophrenia.
Merry Christmas, Y’all!
I decided I might be a bit on the snacky side so I went into the kitchen.
Mama said she wanted the kitchen phone moved to the bedroom, but the cord isn’t long enough to reach her jack. And as it turns out, the cord was hardwired into the phone. I discovered this when I took the bottom of the phone off. (I thought it was just a base and that I could unplug the cord and replace it with the cord already in Mama’s room.) I said a few choice words when I saw the hardwiring job, and dropped a screw.
I thought the screw had rolled under the stove, so I pulled the drawer out. Didn’t find the screw.
Did find a filthy mess, though - so I got the broom and swept the toys and measuring spoons out and dampened a washcloth to spotscrub the floor.
Scrubbed a few spots, then realized that this really ain’t gonna work. So I pulled the stove away from the wall, swept the floor again and scrubbed it with the mop.
Then I looked up and realized that the sides of the stove were filthy, so I cleaned that too.
Then I remembered that I’d wanted to cook something to eat.
Does anyone still read here?
Please accept my humble apologies. I can’t seem to find a topic to write coherently about. So….
Ask me anything.
Heh.
I know, there will be zero comments. Heh.
I’m thankful for the kids’ health insurance and the wonderful staff at Forsyth Medical Center’s ER department. Joe stepped on a nail today, and we were seen, x-rayed, treated and streeted inside of two hours. He’s happily ensconced on the sofa with now-orange foot elevated, playing video games.
I’m thankful for the Wii that I nearly bankrupted myself for last Christmas. It has quite admirably kept Daniel (stomach virus) and Joe (see above) confined to their respective spots and engaged enough to keep them from torturing each other.
I’m grateful for my job. If I had a job that actually required me to think, I’m quite sure I would’ve been fired by now. Plus there’s the whole economy in the toilet thing - any job is better than none when you need one.
I’m grateful for Ree. Yes, I occasionally seethe with jealousy when I read her posts. Who wouldn’t? She’s a talented photographer and writer, has a kitchen that I WANT!!!!, and cooks. And gardens. And posts pictures of her hubby’s heiny. Then I read that she gets up at 430am on a regular basis (complete with fresh manure and calf nuts) and said “aw HAIL naw” to myself. Then I went to Starbucks and had a pumpkin spice latte. You know, to comfort myself.
Of course there is much more to be grateful for. But that’s all I’ve got right now.
Jenijen has this mistaken idea that everyone else “gets it all done”. She’s a little overwhelmed. I’m there too, I’ve just had a little more time to embrace The Suckitude(tm).
I don’t get everything done. Sometimes you hafta know what to throw under the bus - AND to be okay with the fact that you threw it under the bus.
Case in point: this post has been sitting in draft mode since she wrote HER post - nearly two weeks ago.
My piles have their own little subpiles. There is a huge bottleneck at the laundry table - almost all of it is clean, but needs to be folded/sorted/put away. My desk is buried under stacks of papers needing to be shredded (can’t find the shredder, natch), computer parts and textbooks. The sofa has a pile of its own - I moved to the sofa when I could no longer stand sitting at my desk. Socks are mating (and reproducing) next to the shoe box.
But. There is food in the cabinet - and it’s not just the “wow I think that’s been in there for three years” stuff. Yes, there is a laundry pile, but it’s clean and makes wardrobe assembly much more speedy: “Sorry kid, that favorite tshirt that you’re looking for must be dirty. Here, why don’t you wear THIS favorite long-sleeved shirt instead, and that way you won’t freeze at school?”
And now let me whip out ye olde cliche: I will never EVER say “I wish I’d scrubbed the toilet instead of reading that bedtime story”. Nor will I say “I wish I had folded the laundry instead of cuddling you in the rocking chair.”
Ever.
I’m shattered again. I want my Daddy. I want to hit the rewind button and tell everyone in the church at the funeral what a vital part of mine and my kids’ lives he was. That when my respective ex-spouses decided that involvement was too much to handle, my Daddy stepped up.
Then I want to hit the rewind button again and keep the accident from happening.
Relating the news to people who didn’t know is still difficult - I feel like I’m whapping them in the head with it. And I’m still running into folks who yell “Tell yer Daddy I said Hey!” over their shoulder as they leave. What, specifically, is the protocol there? Am I supposed to chase them down and tell them? Call ‘em up and say “I know you didn’t know, but….”?
There have been quite a few occasions where I’ve said “Daddy, where did you PUT IT??!!??” and heard his voice in my head saying “It’s right there in front of your face!” in that irritatedDaddy tone of voice. (And? It was.)
I drove a Toyota Celica when I was pregnant with Alannah. When my belly got too big for me to slide down into that car, Daddy gave me the keys to his red pickup and I drove it until after she was born.
When my first husband left (for the last time) Daddy stayed with me until he was sure that the man would not be coming back to my house.
When it was time for me to leave Tig, I called Daddy. A plane ticket was waiting for us the next day to come home. After Tig moved out of our apartment Daddy flew back, packed all my stuff and brought it to me.
Daddy was at the hospital when I delivered Joseph. Not in the delivery room, but he was there.
When they were old enough, Daddy would take them “hiking in the forest” behind our house and then creekstompin’. He taught them the necessary skills - carry a stick, don’t touch THAT VINE, and how to pee on a tree.
He asked Alannah what kind of car she wanted. With all the bravado of a teen that knows EVERYTHING she tossed off the name of my dream car - quite certain she wouldn’t get it. The car was sitting in the driveway two weeks later. It needs some restoration work, but it runs (and yes, I’m driving it. Hush.)
We weren’t done yet. And I’m angry about that.
Yay me! I didn’t get lost coming to NC A&T this time! We’re happily ensconced in the auditorium waiting for the panel to start. My lappy battery sez it has 57minutes left (heh. It *might* just be time for a new one) and Holly is sitting next to me.
WHEE!
The New Normal is taking some getting used to. I had experienced Life Without Daddy when I moved out of state, so it’s not quite the shock to the system that you might think. I still catch myself before the words “Boys, go FIND YOUR PAPAW” fall from my lips.
The yard has been cleaned up. It is beautiful and strange all at the same time. The junk that is missing was well and truly junk and we’re better off without it cluttering up the property. Those things were My Daddy’s and he should have a say in what happens to it. And then Reality intrudes: it took a friend and his four-man crew the better part of two days to sort through, recycle, and otherwise dispose of it all.
The Wake and The Funeral were surreal. It was a celebration of….the part of My Daddy’s Life that I wasn’t allowed to participate in. I bit my tongue, I dug my nails into my fingertips, and my mantra became “This is why I refuse to participate in this culture”. It did make me glad for my classes in sociology and anthropology - I was able to shift into observation mode and distance myself from the culture in action.
No textbooks have been touched during the last week. I had planned on going back to school today, but just couldn’t. Maybe on Thursday. Have to.
There has been a horrifying, terrible, tragic accident and my Daddy died.
I don’t know when I’ll be back….
