My sister Jo ... Queen of Wasabi
One cup of Wasabi was all that stood between my sister Jo and two free concert tickets to go see Good Charlotte, Simple Plan and Reliant K ... Needless to say she more than gave the DJ at the radio station a run for his money. In fact, she completely chumped him out. (And I couldn't be prouder, though judging from the look on her face the stuff was pretty nasty.)
Raise Your Voices
Received an email from my Mom this morning informing me that my grandfather is in the hospital having been diagnosed with testicular cancer. As I'm a firm believer in the power of positive thought, I'd be forever indebted to any of you who could find time to cast a wish (or a prayer) up into the night sky for strength to fight this disease.
On another note, my stepmother could also use a few friendly wishes for a speedy recuperation. She had her gall bladder removed today and I'm sure she's not feeling her best at the present time.
More from me later if I can wrap my mind around the art of blogging.
On another note, my stepmother could also use a few friendly wishes for a speedy recuperation. She had her gall bladder removed today and I'm sure she's not feeling her best at the present time.
More from me later if I can wrap my mind around the art of blogging.
Stupid Moments of Clarity
I hate to admit this, but I'm a little geeked up over the new brand of laundry detergent I picked up earlier tonight on my Wednesday night grocery trip. Two one hundred fluid ounce containers on sale for five bucks was all the try me, buy me propaganda I needed to see to pluck two of them off the shelf and add them to my already half full cart. (Though I did try not to set them on top of the chicken or anything else smushable for that matter.) And as I wheeled about the store, much like a Nascar driver at the Indy 500, it occurred to me that I really ought to shop off a list. Though to be perfectly honest with you, when it comes to lists, I'm great at making them and equally worse about following them. List or no list, I always forget something I need no matter what. Today's I can't believe I forgot that moment was brought to you by the letter "H" as in hairspray. As in reminded myself I had to get some hairspray, made my way down that very aisle and walked out of it with only hair dye in my hand. And yes, you heard me right. I said hair dye.
Whoever said going gray gracefully was the way to go was someone who was well past the age of thirty. At thirty (God, I still can't believe I'm that old) I absolutely refuse to do anything gracefully! (Did I mention I called Brenda on the phone the other day from work to tell her two very stupid things, the first being that I had this uncontrollable urge to crawl under my desk and hide there and the second to whine about being thirty when I swear to God I'm still holding fast to 29.) Anyhoo, I did manage to crawl under my desk and ... Woops. I wasn't supposed to admit to giving into that temptation ... Damn! My cool factor just dropped down faster than a barometer signaling rain. Must remember that this is a bit more readable than my handwritten diary ... And wouldn't you all just like a peek at that. (Not that there's anything overly interesting to be found there as I have written in that one for longer than I care to mention. Why write when one can blog I say.)
Uh oh. I've just realized I've left the hair dye on longer than I was supposed to. Ten extra minutes to be exact. I want my hair to be its original dark color without risking it falling out and looking like Mr. Clean.
I feel the need to lather, rinse, repeat and condition. Wish me luck and oh, leave me some comments. I'm getting lonely. (Don't make me beg. I'm begging here ...)
Whoever said going gray gracefully was the way to go was someone who was well past the age of thirty. At thirty (God, I still can't believe I'm that old) I absolutely refuse to do anything gracefully! (Did I mention I called Brenda on the phone the other day from work to tell her two very stupid things, the first being that I had this uncontrollable urge to crawl under my desk and hide there and the second to whine about being thirty when I swear to God I'm still holding fast to 29.) Anyhoo, I did manage to crawl under my desk and ... Woops. I wasn't supposed to admit to giving into that temptation ... Damn! My cool factor just dropped down faster than a barometer signaling rain. Must remember that this is a bit more readable than my handwritten diary ... And wouldn't you all just like a peek at that. (Not that there's anything overly interesting to be found there as I have written in that one for longer than I care to mention. Why write when one can blog I say.)
Uh oh. I've just realized I've left the hair dye on longer than I was supposed to. Ten extra minutes to be exact. I want my hair to be its original dark color without risking it falling out and looking like Mr. Clean.
I feel the need to lather, rinse, repeat and condition. Wish me luck and oh, leave me some comments. I'm getting lonely. (Don't make me beg. I'm begging here ...)
The Terrible Tooth
When it comes to pain, I'm not exactly a big fan of it. I may not faint at the sight of blood, and I may be used to a phlebotomist tearing up my arm in order to hit a vein, and I may be the proud wearer of a tattoo which took over 2-1/2 hours the first time, and then another hour the second, but when it comes to tooth pain, someone needs to hand me a sledgehammer and clear the room.
I've come to the conclusion that I can understand why people go absolutely crazy from something as simple sounding as a toothache. Because it's not just a toothache. It's a full blown war inside your mouth that throbs and jabs and shoots all sorts of horrible pain to every part of your body, particularly your ears.
I was in such agony last night I ransacked my cupboards looking for any sort of medication I thought might dull the pain, crying like a schoolgirl pushed off the high end of a teeter totter as I did. The worse part however was the lateness of the hour and the complete exhaustion I felt after having tidied up the house all day, refereed countless arguments between KC and her cousin Jay - who take sheer joy in tormenting each other for no other reason than to drive me insane, albeit not slowly - and making a nice riggie dinner to celebrate Easter at my house with only the kids, my Dad and myself in attendance since everyone else was either away or working. All I wanted was to close my eyes and fall asleep, losing myself in that blissful moment of head hitting the pillow, eyes closing slowly and that soft, gentle glide into slumber.
Tooth pain however doesn't take naps and instead of enjoying the relaxation that normally is my love affair with sleep, the pain wrapped its ribbons around me. Climbing from my bed, I tried an excessively hot shower, perhaps thinking that a good scald would take my mind off my teeth, only to exit with bright pink skin, soggy hair, and pretty much the same pain as before. Damn! Didn't work, I thought. Depressing.
Long story short, I eventually managed to medicate to the point where sleep grudgingly decided to grace me with a little peace, though it was half sitting up on my couch with barely a blanket to keep me warm and the promise of a neck crink come morning. (Sigh.)
I've come to the conclusion that I can understand why people go absolutely crazy from something as simple sounding as a toothache. Because it's not just a toothache. It's a full blown war inside your mouth that throbs and jabs and shoots all sorts of horrible pain to every part of your body, particularly your ears.
I was in such agony last night I ransacked my cupboards looking for any sort of medication I thought might dull the pain, crying like a schoolgirl pushed off the high end of a teeter totter as I did. The worse part however was the lateness of the hour and the complete exhaustion I felt after having tidied up the house all day, refereed countless arguments between KC and her cousin Jay - who take sheer joy in tormenting each other for no other reason than to drive me insane, albeit not slowly - and making a nice riggie dinner to celebrate Easter at my house with only the kids, my Dad and myself in attendance since everyone else was either away or working. All I wanted was to close my eyes and fall asleep, losing myself in that blissful moment of head hitting the pillow, eyes closing slowly and that soft, gentle glide into slumber.
Tooth pain however doesn't take naps and instead of enjoying the relaxation that normally is my love affair with sleep, the pain wrapped its ribbons around me. Climbing from my bed, I tried an excessively hot shower, perhaps thinking that a good scald would take my mind off my teeth, only to exit with bright pink skin, soggy hair, and pretty much the same pain as before. Damn! Didn't work, I thought. Depressing.
Long story short, I eventually managed to medicate to the point where sleep grudgingly decided to grace me with a little peace, though it was half sitting up on my couch with barely a blanket to keep me warm and the promise of a neck crink come morning. (Sigh.)
When The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From the Tree
My daughter is under the impression that life must be filled with little battles. Battles for control. Battles for the last word. Battles to eat candy at the crack of dawn and battles to prove that her Mother couldn't possibly know what she's talking about. And there are times when I'm quite convinced that my middle name should have been frustration and hers should have been stubborn to the core.
God forbid there should be a holiday that one could actually enjoy without garnering a headache long before noon instead of having to deal with the grumble and groans of a child who sometimes loses focus of the things she should be thankful for as she issues her complaints of "why isn't there more?"
When explanation fails to work, this Mother throws her hands up in the air and sends the child to her room, possibly under the misguided impression that time away from the situation just might bring clarity to light. And she reasons that it is far easier than trying to talk to a child whose hands clamp over her ears and whose chin is raised in oh so stubborn defiance. And yet there are moments when this Mom has to pinch herself to keep from laughing at the stupidity of it all and the daughter who finds herself knee deep in trouble over the silliest little bits of nonsense possible.
Stubbornness can be a good quality in moderation and one my daughter has yet to master in her quest to wield her power with something more than sheer determination, regardless of right and wrong. Lucky for her, her Mom is an old pro ... I only occasionally get in a snit fit over things that aren't worth it.
God forbid there should be a holiday that one could actually enjoy without garnering a headache long before noon instead of having to deal with the grumble and groans of a child who sometimes loses focus of the things she should be thankful for as she issues her complaints of "why isn't there more?"
When explanation fails to work, this Mother throws her hands up in the air and sends the child to her room, possibly under the misguided impression that time away from the situation just might bring clarity to light. And she reasons that it is far easier than trying to talk to a child whose hands clamp over her ears and whose chin is raised in oh so stubborn defiance. And yet there are moments when this Mom has to pinch herself to keep from laughing at the stupidity of it all and the daughter who finds herself knee deep in trouble over the silliest little bits of nonsense possible.
Stubbornness can be a good quality in moderation and one my daughter has yet to master in her quest to wield her power with something more than sheer determination, regardless of right and wrong. Lucky for her, her Mom is an old pro ... I only occasionally get in a snit fit over things that aren't worth it.
In My Room
Since it seems I mention my penchant for the art of sleeping on a somewhat daily basis, what better way to sign off for the night than giving you all a glimpse of the one room in my house that is my absolute favorite ...
I love you double pillow top mattress.
I love you double pillow top mattress.
How many girls get to go to sleep and dream with the floating head of Orpheus above their beds? I must be one of the lucky few ...
Tender Things That Grow
I should still be sleeping. Instead I'm curled up on the couch in a semi-reclined position with pillow at my head and blanket wrapped around me. If I had to go to work and forgot to set my alarm clock, I would still be sound asleep in bed, but because I have today off, I am supplying my own particular brand of irony by being wide awake.
And I think I have my dreams to blame because they are surely what woke me up this morning. Reaching a high level of irritation while in REM will do that to you as I have been known to continually prove. Yay, me!
So here I am, running down the clock and waiting for the time to go upstairs and pull KC from her bed to start the day. Though truth be told, she's very unhappy with going to school today. With Mommy off from work, she had her heart set on a Mommy/Daughter date day. But school is school and she must go, though I've already told her that we will have a special M&D night once she's home with plans to go out to dinner and catch a movie.
Meanwhile I'm planning on visiting my local garden center later on this morning with cash in hand and seed packets on my mind. With the scent of spring lingering closely - despite yesterday's infiltration of yet more snow - it can only be time to start the germinating process indoors.
My mind is filled with visions of California poppies, crisp white daisies, black eyed Susans, morning glories, clemantis, lavender, and all other sorts of blooms that I am giddy with the thought of tiny little shoots reaching for the sun.
And of course, maybe a few more seed packets to broadcast over and around my thinking spot while letting nature handle the rest ... Someday there will be wildflowers everywhere and all who wander by will wonder how they got there, as if it is some mystery, as they stop to appreciate the sea of colors brought forth by tender blooms.
Surely it will be a small slice of heaven on earth.
And I think I have my dreams to blame because they are surely what woke me up this morning. Reaching a high level of irritation while in REM will do that to you as I have been known to continually prove. Yay, me!
So here I am, running down the clock and waiting for the time to go upstairs and pull KC from her bed to start the day. Though truth be told, she's very unhappy with going to school today. With Mommy off from work, she had her heart set on a Mommy/Daughter date day. But school is school and she must go, though I've already told her that we will have a special M&D night once she's home with plans to go out to dinner and catch a movie.
Meanwhile I'm planning on visiting my local garden center later on this morning with cash in hand and seed packets on my mind. With the scent of spring lingering closely - despite yesterday's infiltration of yet more snow - it can only be time to start the germinating process indoors.
My mind is filled with visions of California poppies, crisp white daisies, black eyed Susans, morning glories, clemantis, lavender, and all other sorts of blooms that I am giddy with the thought of tiny little shoots reaching for the sun.
And of course, maybe a few more seed packets to broadcast over and around my thinking spot while letting nature handle the rest ... Someday there will be wildflowers everywhere and all who wander by will wonder how they got there, as if it is some mystery, as they stop to appreciate the sea of colors brought forth by tender blooms.
Surely it will be a small slice of heaven on earth.
A Rush to Disaster
7:27 a.m.
Five minutes away from work, three minutes to get there on time. I can make it I thought. No problem. Just a little more gas and I'll have this engine purring like a kitten. Burning up, I reached for the controls, adjusting the level of heat from hot to cold, flicking another button to roll my window down a crack. I turned the music up a little louder, singing along as the scenery blurred before me.
7:28 a.m.
Dust clouds spitting up behind me, I let my foot off the gas and began to brake for the stop sign in front of me, noting as I did another truck quickly approaching from the left of the intersection. I was prepared to stop. And yet all of a sudden I wasn't, pulling hard to the right instead as my wheels spun out of control. Instinct guided my hands to turn the steering wheels away from the direction of the slide and the immediate response of the antilock brakes jerked me in my seat as my belt tightened around me.
All in the space of a few seconds, I could see how dangerously close I was to the intersection and the other driver who was probably praying I would stop in time as well.
7:29 a.m.
Rolling to a stop on the other side of the road, twisted at an odd angle to the direction I had been going in, I sat there quiet, hands gone white on the steering wheel, my face drained of color, simply glad to be in one piece. Black ice, I thought to myself. Fourteen years worth of driving experience, and I'd never come across such a patch before. This one had my name on it.
And though I could have sat there all day, trying to pull myself together from way too close a call, the car approaching from behind me was all the incentive I needed to right myself and continue on down the road, albeit at a much slower pace than before.
Five minutes away from work, three minutes to get there on time. I can make it I thought. No problem. Just a little more gas and I'll have this engine purring like a kitten. Burning up, I reached for the controls, adjusting the level of heat from hot to cold, flicking another button to roll my window down a crack. I turned the music up a little louder, singing along as the scenery blurred before me.
7:28 a.m.
Dust clouds spitting up behind me, I let my foot off the gas and began to brake for the stop sign in front of me, noting as I did another truck quickly approaching from the left of the intersection. I was prepared to stop. And yet all of a sudden I wasn't, pulling hard to the right instead as my wheels spun out of control. Instinct guided my hands to turn the steering wheels away from the direction of the slide and the immediate response of the antilock brakes jerked me in my seat as my belt tightened around me.
All in the space of a few seconds, I could see how dangerously close I was to the intersection and the other driver who was probably praying I would stop in time as well.
7:29 a.m.
Rolling to a stop on the other side of the road, twisted at an odd angle to the direction I had been going in, I sat there quiet, hands gone white on the steering wheel, my face drained of color, simply glad to be in one piece. Black ice, I thought to myself. Fourteen years worth of driving experience, and I'd never come across such a patch before. This one had my name on it.
And though I could have sat there all day, trying to pull myself together from way too close a call, the car approaching from behind me was all the incentive I needed to right myself and continue on down the road, albeit at a much slower pace than before.
Oh Headache ...
I think a bit of last nights absolutions have finally caught up with me. Out of the blue my head is pounding, my eyes feel like they're on fire and all I want to do is find my bed and climb in. And this is really starting to sound like a good idea. And not just because I'm starting to recall bits and pieces of yesterdays conversations that bordered on the bright side of brilliant and the dark side of stupid, amazing really when you consider they all were pretty much said in the same breath ...
And I think Bren and I covered every subject known to mankind last night, and doing our fair share of laughing while we were at it. Now if I could just figure out how she managed to talk me out of something without saying a word, I swear I'll be just fine.
No. I'm quite sure nothing makes any sense.
And I think Bren and I covered every subject known to mankind last night, and doing our fair share of laughing while we were at it. Now if I could just figure out how she managed to talk me out of something without saying a word, I swear I'll be just fine.
No. I'm quite sure nothing makes any sense.
Slow Sunday
I suppose I should do what I'm supposed to be doing today and finish spring cleaning the downstairs despite my lack of interest in doing so. And yet, there's not that much more to do other than clean up a bit of the clutter that hides the top of my computer desk and the entertainment center alike.
I was thinking however of running down to my Dad's and picking up my niece for a little while. She called me last night on the phone, right after Brenda got here and asked me if she could come over and spend the night. I on the other hand did something unusual and said no. Aunt Stacey who normally comes through in a pinch opted to enforce the no kids weekend. At least for last night that is.
So I think I will sign off - over and out - and give a call to my sister and then a call down to Dad's and retrieve the little monster before KC comes home tonight. Maybe I'll even open the pack rat chest and find something crafty we can do since baking cookies is out ...
Sha Sha Shopping Trip
"KC, what do girls like to do?"
"Goooooo SHOPPING!"
I went to Target and I said to Brenda - prior to entering the store, that is - "Please by all that is good and holy, do not let me buy anything other than towels and an Easter present for KC." One hundred nine dollars and eighteen cents later, I not only had my new towels (the color of musk melon) but I also had - and this is in no particular order - 4 pairs of summer shorts, one pair of clamdiggers, one matching top to go with the clamdiggers (all for KC's Easter basket, of course) along with Easter candy, one Easter egg dye kit, a set of 4 glass tumblers to replace all of mine that have never matched since I've lived here, 2 bottles of hamster food, one bottle of parakeet food, hamster litter stuff, one Rubbermaid tote to keep the hamster litter stuff in and last but not least, and the last item for the Easter basket, the newly released movie "The Incredibles" ...
And as if I didn't spend enough money there, I then drove back towards home leaving Brenda to go her own way - well at least for a few hours until she comes here tonight, and she better not even think about canceling out on me, less she want to suffer my wrath - and decided I better get my grocery shopping done while the weather was nice.
I might add that it was a little over forty degrees here and absolutely beautiful. I had the sunroof open, the driver side window down, my tunes cranked to the max (Tori Amos, Mary J Blige, Jason Mraz, and a little 50 Cent ... Eclectic mix, I know.) and my shades on. I was the girl.
Anyhoo, back to the grocery shopping story ... I spent money there too. The end. Not really the end, but there's not a lot of details I can give you about picking out which new mud mask I want to give a try to tonight. (God! I really need to get a (night) life!)
Meanwhile back at the ranch, aka home, I've a slew of things to put away and hide and clean, or stuff in some closet somewhere ... Heh, heh, heh ... Maybe I can persuade Brenda to help me with a little spring cleaning. Or course, it would help if she brings along the proper motivation with her. (And she damn well better.)
So I'm out until later. Peace out yo ...
"Goooooo SHOPPING!"
I went to Target and I said to Brenda - prior to entering the store, that is - "Please by all that is good and holy, do not let me buy anything other than towels and an Easter present for KC." One hundred nine dollars and eighteen cents later, I not only had my new towels (the color of musk melon) but I also had - and this is in no particular order - 4 pairs of summer shorts, one pair of clamdiggers, one matching top to go with the clamdiggers (all for KC's Easter basket, of course) along with Easter candy, one Easter egg dye kit, a set of 4 glass tumblers to replace all of mine that have never matched since I've lived here, 2 bottles of hamster food, one bottle of parakeet food, hamster litter stuff, one Rubbermaid tote to keep the hamster litter stuff in and last but not least, and the last item for the Easter basket, the newly released movie "The Incredibles" ...
And as if I didn't spend enough money there, I then drove back towards home leaving Brenda to go her own way - well at least for a few hours until she comes here tonight, and she better not even think about canceling out on me, less she want to suffer my wrath - and decided I better get my grocery shopping done while the weather was nice.
I might add that it was a little over forty degrees here and absolutely beautiful. I had the sunroof open, the driver side window down, my tunes cranked to the max (Tori Amos, Mary J Blige, Jason Mraz, and a little 50 Cent ... Eclectic mix, I know.) and my shades on. I was the girl.
Anyhoo, back to the grocery shopping story ... I spent money there too. The end. Not really the end, but there's not a lot of details I can give you about picking out which new mud mask I want to give a try to tonight. (God! I really need to get a (night) life!)
Meanwhile back at the ranch, aka home, I've a slew of things to put away and hide and clean, or stuff in some closet somewhere ... Heh, heh, heh ... Maybe I can persuade Brenda to help me with a little spring cleaning. Or course, it would help if she brings along the proper motivation with her. (And she damn well better.)
So I'm out until later. Peace out yo ...
Yawning is Contagious
And a Happy Saint Patty's day to all the lads and lassies out there. I raise you a pint and see you double ...
All right ... So it's obvious I'm not Irish and after having a taste of soda bread, I can't say I'm too disappointed about that much at all. I am a wee bit irritated however that I missed out on getting a shamrock shake this year. There's something about that odd tasting concoction that I actually like. Can't really figure it out but there it is.
KC was feeling much better this morning and didn't even ask to stay home from school. It seems what she needed most was just a little more sleep. I wish I could say the same for myself. I spent most of the night tossing and turning, unable to get more than a few winks in. Which meant that I spent most of today walking around like a zombie with puffy eyes and a bad case of don't bother me growls proclaiming to one and all - or anyone who would listen for that matter - that I didn't get enough sleep.
Sigh.
Much to do. No energy to get it done. But tomorrow is Friday!
Tired Sprite
My poor babe is unwell tonight, curled up beside me on the couch sleeping off whatever is making her feel unwell. She didn't even get around to having dinner, falling asleep while I was in the kitchen making her soup. One moment she was yelling at Octavia for stepping on her head and the next she was out like a little light, the kitten curled up on her pillow.
And this is one of those moments when I wish I had a magic wand I could wave over her and make her feel better. But for now, I'm just content to let her sleep. Though I haven't quite figured out how I'm going to manage getting her up the stairs in a little bit. It's been a while since I've had to pick her up and carry her, but I can't think of any other way ...
There's no time like the present I suppose. I just hope that I don't go tumbling down the stairs in the attempt.
And this is one of those moments when I wish I had a magic wand I could wave over her and make her feel better. But for now, I'm just content to let her sleep. Though I haven't quite figured out how I'm going to manage getting her up the stairs in a little bit. It's been a while since I've had to pick her up and carry her, but I can't think of any other way ...
There's no time like the present I suppose. I just hope that I don't go tumbling down the stairs in the attempt.
For Tonight, The Words of Someone Else
Coming Home
You are coming home at night:
you pass from light to light,
walking around the block,
and your shadow swings to the right
the way a second hand
goes round a modern clock,
and other shadows, bound
to your footsteps, climb the walls,
or jerk along the pavement,
and some contrast and darken,
others lengthen and fade.
The lights are various loves
by whom you find your way,
by whom you see and move:
they lend you guidance, they
enable you to find
not only house and door,
and wall and window-blind,
but something less and more,
your image, multiplied,
cast for your gaze, and thrown
distorted, but your own.
And what you need the most,
O walker in the night,
is to continue, sure
the self is always right,
and neither caricature,
nor unavailing ghost.
And if a light is broken,
if one of them goes out,
as well they may, of course,
and substance takes from shadow
its absolute divorce,
be reassured, in darkness,
the self is never lost.
Rolfe Humphries
So often, we believe that we have come to a place that is void of hope and void of possibilities, only to find that it is the very hopelessness that allows us to hit bottom, give up our illusion of control, turn it over, and ask for help. Out of the ashes of our hopelessness comes the fire of our hope. - Anne Wilson Schaef
Resurrection of the Phoenix
Already this morning I have done two loads on laundry, made breakfast and loaded the dishwasher. This might feel like an accomplishment if the rest of my house didn't look like a bonafide disaster. Or worse yet, if I didn't look and feel like a bonafide disaster. Sad, but oh so true.
I wish I could throw everything away and start all over again. Every room a blank slate, a pristine canvas to carefully accessorize with the thought process of less is more. But I'm a holder-on-er. One of those people who can find an emotional attachment to a dishcloth. "Oh dishcloth ..."
This could possibly be why I spend so much time looking at the ceiling. Looking anywhere else usually makes me drop my jaw and pound my head against a wooden table wondering where and how I should start. I remember reading somewhere once that the state of a persons house was usually a good indicator on the state of their life. It wouldn't take a trained eye to see my house - and perhaps myself as well - are desperately crying out for help.
What would a stranger think if they were allowed access to my home? Would they wonder about the woman who allows the dust to pile up on a bookshelf overflowing with books? Would they notice the pictures hanging on the wall or the way the curtains just seem to hang from the windows limp and lifeless? Would they see the half finished painting peeking out from beneath the entertainment center or the collections of faceless angels that seem to be overlook the room with a sense of detachment? Would they notice the warmth is really a cold, deep freeze pretending to be something other than what it was? A room stuck in eternal winter, emptier for being full.
So many things here are here because I simply didn't choose. I didn't choose to say, "No. This really isn't my style." I didn't say, "I'm sorry. I really don't have the room." Instead I spoke with my heart in my mouth and said, "Let me make your personal attachment mine. I promise to keep it forever."
As silly as it sounds, this is sort of the downfall of my personality. My hang up for hanging on. There's no running away from it. And God knows, I've tried, failed, tried again, failed again and tried some more all to no avail. And really, it's too bad that this tenacity of mine picks and chooses what it will fight for and what it won't.
And that my friends is the crux of the problem. My warriors heart that refuses to pick up the sword and battle for my truths, finding it easier to say, "Not now. Not tonight. Let things be the way they are. This is good enough. This is as good as its going to get. You want too much. You can't have the world."
But I do. I want the world. I want everything. I want open doors, open minds, the power to take a chance and not be afraid of failing. The power to risk it all and come out on top in the end. The power to get in my car, to board a plane, to see the world without fearing the journey itself. To forget the dangers, the darkness, the wolves that lurk just beyond the path and to see only the sun, the moon and those brilliant blazing stars above me. This is what I want. Not to be held down by convention, invention, or intentions that always seem to be saying "No. You can't."
My wants are needs. I need more than I want. I need to do this to know I'm living and not just watching from the sidelines wishing I could be out there doing something more. I need me not to give up on myself. Not to give in to the pain of holding on to the too muchness of the things I remember. To fight for the woman who is today, the girl who still has dreams in her eyes, the woman who isn't afraid to wield the power of herself.
I wish I could throw everything away and start all over again. Every room a blank slate, a pristine canvas to carefully accessorize with the thought process of less is more. But I'm a holder-on-er. One of those people who can find an emotional attachment to a dishcloth. "Oh dishcloth ..."
This could possibly be why I spend so much time looking at the ceiling. Looking anywhere else usually makes me drop my jaw and pound my head against a wooden table wondering where and how I should start. I remember reading somewhere once that the state of a persons house was usually a good indicator on the state of their life. It wouldn't take a trained eye to see my house - and perhaps myself as well - are desperately crying out for help.
What would a stranger think if they were allowed access to my home? Would they wonder about the woman who allows the dust to pile up on a bookshelf overflowing with books? Would they notice the pictures hanging on the wall or the way the curtains just seem to hang from the windows limp and lifeless? Would they see the half finished painting peeking out from beneath the entertainment center or the collections of faceless angels that seem to be overlook the room with a sense of detachment? Would they notice the warmth is really a cold, deep freeze pretending to be something other than what it was? A room stuck in eternal winter, emptier for being full.
So many things here are here because I simply didn't choose. I didn't choose to say, "No. This really isn't my style." I didn't say, "I'm sorry. I really don't have the room." Instead I spoke with my heart in my mouth and said, "Let me make your personal attachment mine. I promise to keep it forever."
As silly as it sounds, this is sort of the downfall of my personality. My hang up for hanging on. There's no running away from it. And God knows, I've tried, failed, tried again, failed again and tried some more all to no avail. And really, it's too bad that this tenacity of mine picks and chooses what it will fight for and what it won't.
And that my friends is the crux of the problem. My warriors heart that refuses to pick up the sword and battle for my truths, finding it easier to say, "Not now. Not tonight. Let things be the way they are. This is good enough. This is as good as its going to get. You want too much. You can't have the world."
But I do. I want the world. I want everything. I want open doors, open minds, the power to take a chance and not be afraid of failing. The power to risk it all and come out on top in the end. The power to get in my car, to board a plane, to see the world without fearing the journey itself. To forget the dangers, the darkness, the wolves that lurk just beyond the path and to see only the sun, the moon and those brilliant blazing stars above me. This is what I want. Not to be held down by convention, invention, or intentions that always seem to be saying "No. You can't."
My wants are needs. I need more than I want. I need to do this to know I'm living and not just watching from the sidelines wishing I could be out there doing something more. I need me not to give up on myself. Not to give in to the pain of holding on to the too muchness of the things I remember. To fight for the woman who is today, the girl who still has dreams in her eyes, the woman who isn't afraid to wield the power of herself.
All Out of Blog
Chalk up the recent silence to me having absolutely nothing to talk about. I fear I may be blogged out ... Or self censoring to the point of no return. Either way I've been staring at the screen for over twenty minutes now wondering what to write. Should I write about doing absolutely nothing constructive today, or do I write about finally having that we're both sorry moment with my older sister last night? Do I talk about ignoring the fact that today was my stepfather's birthday and that I meant to call, told myself I was going to call and ended up not calling? Or do I just tell you the mundane stuff like how I cleaned the bird cage, and how the hamster almost took a turn for the worse when Octavia knocked her cage off the dresser?
This reminds me of a time back in high school when Brenda and I would get frustrated to the point of no return and just scream ourselves silly with the excuse, "Tension breaker. Had to be done."
Perhaps I should take myself outside and scream at the top of my lungs. Then again, my neighbors might come out and look at me funny.
***** Addendum *****
I did one better than simply picking up a phone. Instead I opted to deliver the birthday greeting in person while KC was at a birthday party. Belated is far better than never.
This reminds me of a time back in high school when Brenda and I would get frustrated to the point of no return and just scream ourselves silly with the excuse, "Tension breaker. Had to be done."
Perhaps I should take myself outside and scream at the top of my lungs. Then again, my neighbors might come out and look at me funny.
***** Addendum *****
I did one better than simply picking up a phone. Instead I opted to deliver the birthday greeting in person while KC was at a birthday party. Belated is far better than never.
La La Looney
I've spent the better part of the last 12 hours working on a special top secret project ... To say that I am thoroughly exhausted would be an understatement of actual fact. And yet, I've got a corny ass grin on my face just from the thrill of accomplishment. Sort of like the cat who swallowed the canary or in this case, the hamster. Not that the hamster is in any danger yet ... Though I did have to shoo Octavia off the cage more times than I can count already. So much for thinking I had another week before my newest arrival would get here. Oy.
But for now kiddies, I'm off to la la land for some la la sleep.
Until we meet again ...
But for now kiddies, I'm off to la la land for some la la sleep.
Until we meet again ...
Recycled News
Subject: hey...Question
Date: 3/9/2005 12:21:44 PM Eastern Standard Time
From: Jo
To: Stacey
Hey ...
how are things going for you?? Question: my RA found out about MIA HAMM STER, and basically he didn't yell at me, but told me I could no longer have her, and that after break, he would be checking to make sure that she was actually gone. With that said, I was wondering if you would legally adopt her? If you would, that would be great, if not, I'll ask the other sister ... But let me know, also, I doubt dad will allow me to keep her at our house over break, so if you would adopt her, could you also house her earlier over later? I can still come and do the cage and what not. Just let me know, please, and lo siento. Why did the word have to get out?? Thanks
Jo
Shit ... I think I'm the proud NEW owner of a hamster!!! Damn, damn, and double damn.
To Bed Without Dinner
In bed without dinner. Without distraction. With plenty of time to think about her choices, the way she handles a situation, her reactions to simple requests.
I can't see my living room floor and yet I know it's there. I saw it yesterday, right before KC came home from her Dad's. It was definitely there. But now it's gone, lost beneath a pile of papers and a pile of laundry that just suddenly appeared as if it were conjured from thin air. I raise my eyes to the ceiling to get my bearings. It would be nice to have a floor as clean as the ceiling, a large expanse of white, wonderful white, clean white.
Could you just pick up your papers please? A simple request. Could you please lend a hand, help out a bit, tidy up after yourself, realize that the floor is not a giant garbage can? Anything really. Can you do anything to clear the clutter?
I get a cross look and a heavy sigh, an I can't believe she's bugging me now when my favorite cartoon is on sort of look. You've had a long day at school. I should realize you're tired. And where is dinner? Why isn't it ready yet?
My reverie is interrupted. A note down the stairs. The patter of little feet, a noisy give away that someone is out of her room. I should be angry you've broken the rules, I should go upstairs an explain that time out means time out and not time to sneak down the stairs and flutter down a note. And yet I smile. My daughter is sending me a love letter.
It's my turn to roll my eyes. Starving is not a granola bar which you ate in the car on the way home from Grandpa's; the glass of milk you had after school.
Baked chicken, sweet peas, shoe string fries and applesauce - far from a four star meal but edible on a Monday night.
In a moment I will call you down from exile and invite you to the table. Already I am picturing the generous amount of peas on your plate. A mother's revenge. Albeit a small one since you happen to like the little green dots. Still it makes me feel as if I'm getting even. I'm not supposed to feel that way, but I do. Sometimes you drive me crazy.
I can't see my living room floor and yet I know it's there. I saw it yesterday, right before KC came home from her Dad's. It was definitely there. But now it's gone, lost beneath a pile of papers and a pile of laundry that just suddenly appeared as if it were conjured from thin air. I raise my eyes to the ceiling to get my bearings. It would be nice to have a floor as clean as the ceiling, a large expanse of white, wonderful white, clean white.
Could you just pick up your papers please? A simple request. Could you please lend a hand, help out a bit, tidy up after yourself, realize that the floor is not a giant garbage can? Anything really. Can you do anything to clear the clutter?
I get a cross look and a heavy sigh, an I can't believe she's bugging me now when my favorite cartoon is on sort of look. You've had a long day at school. I should realize you're tired. And where is dinner? Why isn't it ready yet?
My reverie is interrupted. A note down the stairs. The patter of little feet, a noisy give away that someone is out of her room. I should be angry you've broken the rules, I should go upstairs an explain that time out means time out and not time to sneak down the stairs and flutter down a note. And yet I smile. My daughter is sending me a love letter.
Are you seriously going to starve your child? That's the worst thing a Mom could do. I'm sorry for my attitude. Please change your mind.
KC
It's my turn to roll my eyes. Starving is not a granola bar which you ate in the car on the way home from Grandpa's; the glass of milk you had after school.
Baked chicken, sweet peas, shoe string fries and applesauce - far from a four star meal but edible on a Monday night.
In a moment I will call you down from exile and invite you to the table. Already I am picturing the generous amount of peas on your plate. A mother's revenge. Albeit a small one since you happen to like the little green dots. Still it makes me feel as if I'm getting even. I'm not supposed to feel that way, but I do. Sometimes you drive me crazy.
Sleep-Over
Thank goodness for coffee. A beverage I don't usually drink but one I am finding to be extremely useful at the moment considering that I fell asleep on Brenda's couch in what could be best described as a little cat nap. That in itself amazing since her three tater tots have been blowing on toy whistles and playing all sorts of games requring loud vocaL skills.
Talk about being a downer at a slumber party ... One is not actually supposed to sleep.
Hmmm ... Dinner is ready, movies are waiting. More to come sometime soon.
Talk about being a downer at a slumber party ... One is not actually supposed to sleep.
Hmmm ... Dinner is ready, movies are waiting. More to come sometime soon.
Woes of Motherhood
"When I'm sixteen, I'm moving out!"
"I hope you find a really nice place then," I said, throwing my jacket over my arm as I scanned the stairs for my car keys. Bundled in her jacket, my daughter stood by the door, her face set in an angry pout while her boot clad feet scuffed back and forth on the carpet.
"I want to go now," she huffed.
"We'll leave when you apologize."
"Sorry," she snapped. "Now can we go?"
I held my breath and counted to ten. A slow count even though I was already running late for work.
"When you say sorry like that, it doesn't count. You have to mean it."
"Well I don't know why you have to ask me all those stupid questions anyway. I'm not a baby you know!"
"As shown by your current behavior?" I asked blandly, watching her hands reaching for the door. I leaned against it.
"Mom! I'm going to be late for school!"
"And I'm going to be late for work. But it seems we need to have a conversation." She attempted to speak. "Let me rephrase that. I'm going to talk, you're going to listen."
She clapped her hands over her ears.
"Well, that's going to make it difficult but not impossible," I said, "I've got all day you know. I don't have to go to work. I could call in and we could stand here all day until you decide you'd like to listen."
I could see the look of horror flash across her face. Stubborness recognizing stubborness. Two mules ramming their heads together could not have been a clearer picture of her and I.
"The reason Mommy asks you all those questions in the morning is because I want to make sure you have everything you need and you haven't forgotten anything. It's what Mom's do. Mom's ask questions to get answers. To make sure you've packed your sneakers in your bag, to make sure you've remembered to put your homework in the folder, to remind you to pack your lunch money. It's my job. It's what I live to do. It's my lifelong mission. It's my reason for breathing. It's ..."
"Mom?"
"Yeah?"
"How long are you going to be asking me this stuff?"
"As long as I'm your Mother ..."
"I hope you find a really nice place then," I said, throwing my jacket over my arm as I scanned the stairs for my car keys. Bundled in her jacket, my daughter stood by the door, her face set in an angry pout while her boot clad feet scuffed back and forth on the carpet.
"I want to go now," she huffed.
"We'll leave when you apologize."
"Sorry," she snapped. "Now can we go?"
I held my breath and counted to ten. A slow count even though I was already running late for work.
"When you say sorry like that, it doesn't count. You have to mean it."
"Well I don't know why you have to ask me all those stupid questions anyway. I'm not a baby you know!"
"As shown by your current behavior?" I asked blandly, watching her hands reaching for the door. I leaned against it.
"Mom! I'm going to be late for school!"
"And I'm going to be late for work. But it seems we need to have a conversation." She attempted to speak. "Let me rephrase that. I'm going to talk, you're going to listen."
She clapped her hands over her ears.
"Well, that's going to make it difficult but not impossible," I said, "I've got all day you know. I don't have to go to work. I could call in and we could stand here all day until you decide you'd like to listen."
I could see the look of horror flash across her face. Stubborness recognizing stubborness. Two mules ramming their heads together could not have been a clearer picture of her and I.
"The reason Mommy asks you all those questions in the morning is because I want to make sure you have everything you need and you haven't forgotten anything. It's what Mom's do. Mom's ask questions to get answers. To make sure you've packed your sneakers in your bag, to make sure you've remembered to put your homework in the folder, to remind you to pack your lunch money. It's my job. It's what I live to do. It's my lifelong mission. It's my reason for breathing. It's ..."
"Mom?"
"Yeah?"
"How long are you going to be asking me this stuff?"
"As long as I'm your Mother ..."
Temper, Temper
I am an evil neighbor magnet. Evil neighbors flock to me. And it's grossly unfair dammit!
Evilness is apartment four and her penchant for visitors each and every single day of the week. Now I'm not against having company over - as long as they call ahead and give me time to throw shit in the closet - but I'm considerate enough to ask my company to do one major thing when visiting. I ask them to park in the outer spaces of the driveway so that they don't take a spot of someone who lives here.
I like to think of it as a common courtesy. The nice neighbor thing you do when you're sharing space with other people. I don't need a memo from the landlord to remind me to be respectful and considerate, I simply am.
And yet, the mad hatter in number four is completely clueless. Tonight I came home with a car load full of groceries, an exhausted danced out daughter and feet as cold and as wet as an iceberg in the Artic, only to find that not one but two cars of non-townhouse dwelling people were parked in my spot and Bob's spot, the two closets spots to the house and our doors.
To say I was mad would be downplaying things. I was pissed like you wouldn't believe. And mostly because we have repeatedly asked and spoken with Cruella to inform her guests about not parking in our spots. Now it may seem a bit trivial, but trust me, when the snow is knee deep and you've got over twenty bags of groceries, only two arms to carry them with and two inch heels on, you get a wee bit upset when some idiot is parked in your space.
Therefore my driveway rage could not be helped.
And so I did the only thing I could think of to do. (Keeping in mind that my daughter is impressionable didn't help much with holding back the tantrum.) Coming into the driveway at a slow crawl, I aimed my vehicle and my bright lights directly at the offending woman's front window, followed by a held down honk of the horn meant as a get off your ass and move your car hint. (A hint she didn't take.) Realizing she wasn't going to correct things, I pulled into Sheila's designated space, unloaded KC and the first set of groceries from the car and struggled my way inside.
"Kace," I said to my daughter as I set the bags inside the front door, "I want you to take these bags to the kitchen while I go back out to get the rest."
"Are you going to go knock on her door, Mom?" she asked.
"Not tonight. I don't think that would be a very good idea right now. Now stand back from the door, Mommy has a point to make and it's going to be loud." And with that, I slammed my door shut hard enough to make the house shake.
Yet even that didn't draw the evil woman out of her hole. And so I stomped back and forth through the snow, one bag after another schelpping my way as quickly as possible before going back out one final time to move my car. I couldn't after all steal Sheila's space just because someone had stolen mine.
But I couldn't quite shake the feeling that a lesson needed to be learned somehow. For a moment, I considered parking my vehicle in front of the offending cars, thereby making their leaving impossible without knocking on my door and asking me to move. And though this was the option I really wanted to choose, I decided against it, more worried that someone would back up into my car to make their own point. I wasn't going to risk it.
So I did the next best thing ...
This is the part where I should probably explain that I do have a penchant to be a major bitch when I feel like I'm in the right on something. In fact, speaking astrologically as we have been, it's exactly what any Scorpio would do. Revenge first, questions later.
In my case, possessed with the power of 4 wheel drive and the balls to back it up - figuratively and not literally - I backed my vehicle up over the unplowed area of snow and squeezed myself beside one of the cars, leaving no room for the driver of the other car to be able to shimmy inside without entering from the passenger side.
How many of you out there are completely shocked?
I was completely immature and I loved it. Loved it to the point that when I heard her company leave, I opened up my front door and took in the fiasco without any shame.
(Sorry this isn't fine tuned for corrections tonight, I'm a bit done it from the day.)
Evilness is apartment four and her penchant for visitors each and every single day of the week. Now I'm not against having company over - as long as they call ahead and give me time to throw shit in the closet - but I'm considerate enough to ask my company to do one major thing when visiting. I ask them to park in the outer spaces of the driveway so that they don't take a spot of someone who lives here.
I like to think of it as a common courtesy. The nice neighbor thing you do when you're sharing space with other people. I don't need a memo from the landlord to remind me to be respectful and considerate, I simply am.
And yet, the mad hatter in number four is completely clueless. Tonight I came home with a car load full of groceries, an exhausted danced out daughter and feet as cold and as wet as an iceberg in the Artic, only to find that not one but two cars of non-townhouse dwelling people were parked in my spot and Bob's spot, the two closets spots to the house and our doors.
To say I was mad would be downplaying things. I was pissed like you wouldn't believe. And mostly because we have repeatedly asked and spoken with Cruella to inform her guests about not parking in our spots. Now it may seem a bit trivial, but trust me, when the snow is knee deep and you've got over twenty bags of groceries, only two arms to carry them with and two inch heels on, you get a wee bit upset when some idiot is parked in your space.
Therefore my driveway rage could not be helped.
And so I did the only thing I could think of to do. (Keeping in mind that my daughter is impressionable didn't help much with holding back the tantrum.) Coming into the driveway at a slow crawl, I aimed my vehicle and my bright lights directly at the offending woman's front window, followed by a held down honk of the horn meant as a get off your ass and move your car hint. (A hint she didn't take.) Realizing she wasn't going to correct things, I pulled into Sheila's designated space, unloaded KC and the first set of groceries from the car and struggled my way inside.
"Kace," I said to my daughter as I set the bags inside the front door, "I want you to take these bags to the kitchen while I go back out to get the rest."
"Are you going to go knock on her door, Mom?" she asked.
"Not tonight. I don't think that would be a very good idea right now. Now stand back from the door, Mommy has a point to make and it's going to be loud." And with that, I slammed my door shut hard enough to make the house shake.
Yet even that didn't draw the evil woman out of her hole. And so I stomped back and forth through the snow, one bag after another schelpping my way as quickly as possible before going back out one final time to move my car. I couldn't after all steal Sheila's space just because someone had stolen mine.
But I couldn't quite shake the feeling that a lesson needed to be learned somehow. For a moment, I considered parking my vehicle in front of the offending cars, thereby making their leaving impossible without knocking on my door and asking me to move. And though this was the option I really wanted to choose, I decided against it, more worried that someone would back up into my car to make their own point. I wasn't going to risk it.
So I did the next best thing ...
This is the part where I should probably explain that I do have a penchant to be a major bitch when I feel like I'm in the right on something. In fact, speaking astrologically as we have been, it's exactly what any Scorpio would do. Revenge first, questions later.
In my case, possessed with the power of 4 wheel drive and the balls to back it up - figuratively and not literally - I backed my vehicle up over the unplowed area of snow and squeezed myself beside one of the cars, leaving no room for the driver of the other car to be able to shimmy inside without entering from the passenger side.
How many of you out there are completely shocked?
I was completely immature and I loved it. Loved it to the point that when I heard her company leave, I opened up my front door and took in the fiasco without any shame.
(Sorry this isn't fine tuned for corrections tonight, I'm a bit done it from the day.)
Dumb Questions, Easy Answers
I'm taking an insane informal poll on bloggers and astrological signs ... So if you happen to be reading this short little excuse for a blog entry because I don't feel the least big bloggy tonight, feel free to drop by in comments and share your sign with me.
Until then peeps, I am over and out of my mind.
Until then peeps, I am over and out of my mind.
