Archive for the ‘Me Myself’ Category
September 21 2010
In my previous life as a domestic goddess (sarcasm intended), I was a clean freak. I received a high from an organized drawer and spotless floor. Vacuuming was like a fun sport and I played at least once a week. Sweeping, dusting, fixing, picking up and putting away. All how a good portion of my day was spent. It’s difficult to do meticulous with children, but it was as close as I could get.
This was before Abby came into our life. Because now, I’m lucky if the dishes get washed before the stuck-on food starts to mold. Meticulous is for suckers. Or paid by the hour housekeepers.
The floors that I used to vacuum every other day haven’t been touched in weeks. There are crumbs hiding in every corner and it’s not out of the question to hear a crunch when I step. Dust bunnies are taking over, reproducing at an alarming rate as bunnies are prone to do, on the prowl for total territorial domination.
So much so, that even my kids are noticing.
“Hey Abby, this is where the dust bunnies live. Look!”, Jedi says to Abby, sweeping giant fluffs of dust with the tip of his finger along the sides of the hallway floor. “Let’s sweep them around, like this”, he instructed as she followed along. They made a game out of it. Until I was afraid the hares were going to hop away or gear up for attack.
The domestic goddess part of me doesn’t know what the heck happened. Except I can’t hear that part of me, because she’s been swallowed by giant dust bunnies.
September 06 2010
Without challenging the Gods here, last week just may have been the worst week ever. Or that’s what I thought. Jedi’s PICU stay and diagnosis, then our car broke down on Friday. Just to add insult to injury, I awoke Saturday morning with what I randomly assumed was a spider bite on my foot. Covered in dried blood. It was such a trivial ridiculous nothing in comparison, but it was the end of my rope.
Looking for an answer that morning, I did what someone should never, ever do, under any circumstances.
Ever.
I Googled “spider bite”.
This was before 8 a.m., mind you. If I had eaten breakfast yet, I may have lost it. The huge, gaping wounds and rotting flesh and venom-filled limbs in need of amputation I subjected myself to. Spiders, spiders everywhere. Hundreds and hundreds of them. If I didn’t have a phobia before, I do now.
I couldn’t turn away.
Horrible, no good, very bad, nightmares.
That was my perspective. It could have been worse. I still have my foot. My son may have to take medicine, but he should still live a long and healthy life. Our car is still in pieces in our driveway, but it’s fixable with a lot of work. In the meantime, a wonderful friend let us borrow their vehicle until ours is working again. Last week sucked, for sure, but all things considered, it could have been worse.
August 30 2010
Thursday of last week, I did something in the afternoon I haven’t done in a very long time. Jedi was at school, J took Buzz to his speech class. The only souls left to rule the roost were Abby and myself, and she conked out for a nap shortly after the last of the boys left.
I had 2 hours to myself. To do whatever I wanted.
I can’t even remember the last time I had 2 hours to myself. Without my ears on constant alert of destruction. Without stress of what’s going to happen next. Without demands and noise. Without trying to be in a million different places at once.
What do I do with myself for 2 hours?
A few different ideas ran through my mind; I could dust off a book and actually read a few chapters, or skim through a more suitable magazine. I could give myself a manicure. I could soak in a bath, or streak the house naked. I could join Abby in some shuteye. I could even take the initiative and clean like crazy, but there’s no fun in that.
Instead, I sat on the couch. I propped my feet up on the table, an open netbook resting in my lap. The volume on the television decreased to a faint whisper. A soda in one hand, a chocolate donut in the other. Because what says celebration more than junk food. And I did nothing. Absolutely nothing. In peace and quiet.
I haven’t been able to do that in such a long time.
I can’t wait to do it again.
August 18 2010
Like with twitter previously, I was one of the few remaining holdouts of Facebook. I didn’t want to sign up, because I didn’t think I particularly cared to find people I went to school with, who knew me back when. However, I found myself missing a few connections, a piece of my life from before. And so I finally took the plunge as a beginning first step.
Self-discovery, it starts with Facebook.
While it has been great to reconnect, it’s also forced me into contemplation. Especially when asked what I’ve been up to all this time.
What have I been up to?
I barely travel outside my home, let alone exotic destinations. There is no career that I’m proud of. Most of my friends are words on a screen. In the past 10 years, I have had pregnancy after pregnancy. My stomach extended and deflated. I quit my job to change diapers and chase kids. I yell “no!” so often my throat hurts. I pick up toys and blocks. I clean the house like a maid. I wash dishes and vacuum and sort laundry. I cook dinner. I don’t shower as often as I’d prefer. I’m not allowed to use the bathroom by myself. I am a human tissue, my clothes always stained. I stay in the same pajama pants most days. I feel lucky when I can frame a decent photograph. I check email and twitter for some interaction (validation?), though the concept of social media is still mind-boggling. I spin tales about poop on the internet. I’m a writer, maybe. I’m a mother, sometimes poorly. One step forward, two steps back.
This can’t be it, there has to be more.
What the hell have I been up to?
July 28 2010
When I was younger, a kid if you will, I was stupid. There, I said it. I didn’t do many of the huge stupid things kids do; I didn’t do drugs, I didn’t drink, I didn’t sleep with the football team. In that regard I was pretty tame and boring. My stupidity was more subtle, like a poke in the face instead of a punch.
In my later high school years, I tried to be goth-ish. I listened to Marilyn Manson. I wore dark eyeliner and pouted a lot. I painted all my bedroom furniture black. Any article of clothing I owned with color was discarded. Even in the scorching days of summer, I was that person you’d see sulking about like a head to toe shadow. It was a sweltering existence. My parents let me be whatever I wanted to be, although I’m sure there was an eyeroll or a thousand passed along. Because kids are stupid.
It didn’t take long to snap me out of it.
Recently, when we were driving back from running errands during the peak part of a million degree day, I witnessed the me that I used to be 14 years prior. Even in the middle of a heat warning, this kid was a summer sun sponge in heavy black. If I was uncomfortable in the regulation mom attire I was wearing, this kid had to be on fire.
“Stupid kids”, I found myself thinking with an eyeroll.
To which I then gave myself an eyeroll, because oh heavenly crackers, my age is showing. But at least I’m not (as) stupid.
