Thursday, June 30, 2005
Um...yeah. So. Hi!
Wow. I have so neglected you, Blog.
The thing is, the thing is that there have been so many things thinging along out this way. And if I've already told you about them, well, go grab a cup of chai or something because I'm going to be a lame ass and say them all over again. Like your old Gram who keeps forgetting that she already told you the story about how her sister ate the chicken crap that she found out on the front porch back when they were kids, because she thought it was peanut butter.
That example would be much less disturbing if I hadn't had an old Gram who ate chicken crap as a kid because she thought it was peanut butter. But I digress.
So. I put a contract down on the new house, and I went through that whole crazy Design Center thing where you have to pick out tile and carpet and knobs. (I told you I'd talk about knobs. But actually I didn't get knobs, because dear God, do you know what a ripoff knobs are? Holy cow.) So all that's moving forward and I have about 7 months to pack up my house and sell it to the Ex and find someone to buy my Mom's place and rent the Ex's place and okay I'm freaking myself out now. Next.
My neighbor, my great neighbor who makes the kickass Skippies, gave us a piano. A beautiful antique full-sized upright piano. Gave it. To us. For free. Just because she "knew we'd appreciate it." Have I mentioned how friggin fortunate I am to have such lovely people in my life? So now I'm taking piano lessons because people, I have wanted a piano for 35 YEARS. I can't stop looking at the thing. The kids can't keep their hands off it. The cat can't keep away from it. That piano's getting more action than I've seen in years.
The kids and I took the cat to the vet today to get his vaccinations, long overdue (I know, I know. He doesn't go outside, at least. The last time he got out he got in a fight with something and ended up dislocating his jaw and sprouting some sort of abscess and having to wear one of those stupid cone things and oh, did I mention? This happened 2 days before I went into labor with the Girl and cost like $400. Yeah. He doesn't go outside.)
I don't know why I'm telling you about the cat. See? This is what happens when you don't get any nookie and spend all your time fondling the neighbor's piano.
What else? Uh...oh! The Boy! The Boy, my dear lord, you have no idea. That kid is blossoming. He's already gotten his orange belt in Tae Kwon Do, he's learned to read, he's learned to ride his bike without training wheels, and he's this close to being able to swim. All this since Memorial Day. In general, his moods are stable, his meltdowns less frequent and less severe. Although he keeps cutting out my heart with utterances like this one at breakfast: "When I grow up, I'm going to be a builder. And a papa. And I'll always stay married and never get divorced, because I don't ever want my little boy to feel the way I feel." Ohhhhhhkay, and oh, could you pass the marmalade and the razor blades so I can put out my eyes now? Oh, my aching heart.
And did I mention? I'm heading out of town tomorrow for my 20th high school reunion. There's so much I could say about that but I will save it for your birthday.
So that about covers...hello? Ummm...you, uh, have a little drool there in the corner of your mouth. Mmmhmm. Oh, of course not. No, I didn't think you were asleep. Hey, did I ever tell you about the time my Gram...oh. Right. Peanut butter.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Also, that stupid All Consuming list is totally jacked. So I'll just say this: Go and buy "The Historian". I pretty much never buy books unless I've already fallen in love with them or have read other works by the author and trust him or her. This one I bought sight-unseen. And I have no regrets. I keep telling myself I'm going to put it aside until autumn, because the atmosphere will be so much more appropriate, but I can't do it. I'm totally hooked.
Sunday, June 19, 2005
I opened the garage door this afternoon and something ran across the floor. So I went in search of it. Ha. Right. I actually screamed and shoved my Mom back inside the house cause what the effing ef WAS THAT THING THAT JUST RAN UNDER THE CAR???? Then Whatever It Was starting making some sort of noise. I was pretty sure it wasn't one of the rabbits because it moved too fast. And it didn't sound like a rabbit. So I did what any sane person would do and called my next-door neighbor on the cell phone and asked her to come over and stand in my driveway and see if she could see it under the car while I cowered on the hood.
She brought her teenage son and her dog and we all sort of tiptoed around the cars--nothing. Then I opened the car hoods and dropped them--and Whatever It Was ran out from under the cars and into the pile of junk at the side of the garage and yesIknowIknowmygarageisawreckdon'tbugme. Then there was banging on boxes with rakes and standing on ice chests and so on and so forth and then the thing started keening again and do you know what it turned out to be?
A prairie dog.
I do not live on the bloody prairie, people. Now, in theory, I like those little critters just fine and I always feel sort of bad for them in an "I read Watership Down too many times as an adolescent" sort of way, and they're actually very smart and have a complex social structure etc, etc, but they carry the PLAGUE. Remember the plague?? The Black Death?? Shit. And the thing did...all over the bloody garage. Argh.
I think it's gone now. We left the doors open and hopefully it has returned to nature, but I'm telling you. Did it have to pick a closet hypochondriac's house? Party at Snow White's. Bring your own bleach.
Friday, June 17, 2005
Actually, this week what I've been thinking about all the time is how I am NOT getting any NOOKIE. A lot of cap-locks here, I know. Perhaps a bit of sugar mania from sucking down a late-night Dr. Pepper after hitting Target with my madre and buying more pajamas for my children. How many pajamas do they need, you ask? My house is like the Bermuda Triangle of sleepwear. But I digress. Nookie. Me. Not getting any. That nice little Lexapro sex-drive-dive side effect seems to be wearing off. Which would be, you know, good in most circumstances but is sort of shitty here in Single Motherhood Central. More trips to Home Depot for me, I guess. Let's see how many hormonal urges I can sublimate into architectural design! Wheeee.
Is this too much information? Next week, I'll talk about knobs.
Monday, June 13, 2005
Sunday, June 12, 2005
I think--I hope--that later this week I'll be signing a contract to begin building a new house. A new Home. I won't be able to say this for certain until I talk with the Money People this week, but I've found a place about a 1/2 mile from here, and it feels right. The Ex has agreed to buy this house, the house we once owned together. He's already put a lot of work into it, designed the landscape, put in the sprinkler system himself, had the garage and basement finished to his specifications. He's been searching for a house for the past year, but everything comes up short. Too much money, or not the right design, or something. A few weeks ago, he said, "I wish I could find a house like this one." So I said to him, "Why not this one? Buy it from me."
And me? Why would I want to move? The new place will cost me the same as this one does, but it will have two advantages: So far, it looks as though the neighborhood it's in will stay zoned to the Boy's current school, preventing the dreaded Changing of Schools. And, the layout will allow me to section off part of the house as an apartment for my mother.
How do I tell you about my mother and me? We are so different and yet so alike. We give each other shit constantly, but I have never for one hour doubted that my mother loves me or supports me. Even when we disagree, we respect each other. And one of the primary concerns in my life over the past several years has been her financial well-being. She lives about 7 hours away, and financially, she's not in such great shape. Combining our living spaces will allow her to retire in a few years (she's 70), something she won't otherwise be able to do. This town offers many more opportunities for activity, work, and community than the place she lives. She misses the kids and me.
It's so strange. For so much of my life, I fought tooth and nail not to end up like my mother. I loved her fiercely, but I saw her misery and I didn't want it. A single, older mother (she was only 32 when she had me, but in the '60s, that was quite old for a first-time mother), she made poor choices when it came to men. She and I lived with my grandparents until she remarried when I was 8. She didn't know how to stand up for herself, she didn't particularly like herself, and she was so sad. I hated her sadness. It enraged me. Now I find myself a single mother in my late 30s, fighting that same sadness. But the thought of being in that extended family again is somehow comforting, even while being a bit frightening. I loved living in the same home with my grandmother. I loved feeling a part of something larger. I hope my children will feel the same. Our family hasn't turned out at all as I'd hoped it would, but it still has love at its center, and I hope that will be enough, especially for the Boy. I do love him so.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Um...got me. Send in likely excuses and I'll throw one out there.
On a good note, the VBS has shmoffee and the small children have yet to defeat, er, tire me out. But tomorrow we do nature rubbings. Hey...shut up. You! Over there, I see you sniggering. Watch it.
Friday, June 03, 2005
Okay, what will I actually have the chance to DO tonight that could possibly be better than this? Right. Nothing. That's what I was saying.
Thursday, June 02, 2005
I'm teaching Vacation Bible School! Bwaahaahaahaaaaaaaa!
What? Hey, I'm righteous, dammit! Plus, there's gonna be snacks.
Don't worry, it's the Methodists. We're already mostly subversive anyhow. Mooostly.
From MSN, regarding Tom Cruise's jackass advice that women with postpartum depression just need to take some vitamins (or join his religion):
Shields didn't take kindly to the megastar's One-a-Day advice. "Tom Cruise's comments are irresponsible and dangerous," she said last week (via the London Times). "Tom should stick to saving the world from aliens and let women who are experiencing postpartum depression decide what treatment options are best for them."
Ah, Brooke. You go, girl.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Yeah. You'd think, wouldn't you?