Blue moon coming up on Friday. Are you ready to do all those things that you only do once in a… blue moon?
I think I’ll be (happily) alone most of that day, in a different city. Maybe breakfast with HolyCousin, lunch with LaLa, maybe visiting LaLa’s favorite fabric store. Then staying with my dad and stepmom for a few days. Time with HolyCousin. Time learning everything I can from my dad on the subject of power tools. I bought a craftsman 10″ table saw off craigslist and a new blade and I haven’t even fired it up yet. So, daddy, teach me that router! Table saw basics! Time to help paint their bedroom, and time to walk around with animals or maybe mow pastures. Time to eat whatever memorable and amazing things my stepmother describes as, “oh that’s nothing, kels, i just threw that together!”
There are new developments in every single interesting part of my life. And none of it can be discussed here. So I’ll go to my dad’s. Where you can’t even get a cell signal and you forget why you’d want one.
I didn’t sleep, didn’t remember to eat (so I’m all shaky and icky feeling), and I made the neighbor guy mad from quite a distance. Not my best day. BUT. I did manage to mow the lawn and buy something SO inspirational that says something like “get up, be amazing, go to bed.” i don’t usually buy stuff like that. Ever.
But i think today was totally an exception since I’m doing SUCH a bang up job on life’s simplest tasks and just maybe that sign would help.
The neighbor guy has been trying to reach out and be neighborly ever since he moved in. And I avoid him with everything within me. He seems perfectly nice. Nice family. Pretty wife, cute kids. When I see him coming, I do not hesitate to go inside and close the blinds. he got the hint. (the hint being: THIS CHRISTIAN LADY IS SERIOUSLY NOT NEIGHBORLY. GO AWAY,QUICKLY AND NOW. IN FACT, SHE’S PROBABLY NOT CHRISTIAN. LIKE, AT ALL.)
I’m totally good with sending that message out into the world right now.
Today, i was on the mower and the lady who worries me GREATLY power-walked by. I decided today was the day I’d try to talk to her. For years I’ve seen her. She power walks, frantically, for 20 minute walks 3-5 times every single day. She used to be really healthy looking. Now she’s skeletal. Her skin is leathery tan sinewy stuff over bones. I worry. I pray. I try not to jump to any conclusions, but something is wrong there.
So I mowed, keeping an eye out for when she would power walk back by and I tried to catch her when she did and talk. I don’t know what I was going to say. “hey, I’m an idiot and forgot to eat today. come in and let’s eat quiche and you can eat with me to keep me company and i’ll add extra cheese and calories to yours and pray over it freak-style before i hand it over to you…?”
See. I’m bad at social crap.
I have the heart, I suppose, but that’s where it stops. Maybe that’s because I’ve waved off — and even held up one hand in a “stop” signal – to the neighbor who seems to want to give me a little social conversation practice. But I didn’t want to talk to him.
I wanted to talk to the woman whose shrinking frame has been bothering me 3-5 times a day for years.
But she didn’t stop. (I guess I had THAT coming: Reap. Sow.) Maybe it was the ipod. Or maybe she just wouldn’t stop.
And across the street the neighbor guy raised his hands, palm up, like “SERIOUSLY?! YOU TRIED TO FLAG THAT WOMAN DOWN AND TALK TO HER?”
His annoyance was clear.
I hoped mine was as well.
i do not care about the neighbor guy. Sorry, God. I DON”T. i don’t want to talk to him. And I know it’s my own hangup, but I don’t want to hear, “And how long have you lived here?” type small talk crap, because what I will hear instead of what is ACTUALLY said is a judgmental, “Where is your husband?” Not that he would say it. But I’d hear it.
I do not want to play nice.
I’m wrong on this one. I KNOW. I’m just telling you where I am, even though I know it’s wrong and why and scriptures are coming to my mind, too, thanks, and quote em if you want. It’s okay. i try to keep it real, even if the real is wrong.
sometimes when i get all “i should be TOUGH” feeling, i try to do stupid stuff. like, workout til I throw up. Or eat red meat, like a MAN. even though I’m not a man, much less a MAN, and vegetarians should not do crap like that because then they get sick.
I will not add those sorts of mistakes to my day. I’ll go eat quiche. Alone. Since the neighbors here are SO NOT SOCIAL.
tonight i tucked in Seth-6yr. He was nervous about the first day of school. I leaned over him, pulled up the covers and prayed about his nerves and his all important, first grade year, and his teacher, and his faith, and somewhere in there… for some reason…. he sat up suddenly and accidentally headbutted me. I got a split lip.
spiritual warfare is dangerous, y’all.
It’s been one year since the last Meet The Teacher thing. Last year I ridiculously spazzed out the children needlessly by telling them to dress according to the first impression they wanted to make on their teachers. I don’t know what I was thinking. They were already nervous, and then they were dressed weird.
So today I didn’t say anything of the sort. I made sure they brushed their teeth. And that was it.
They weren’t dressed weird, but they were nervous and OH MY GOSH. Let’s take four of us and amplify our social anxiety issues, add the scent of freshly sharpened pencils, and go to school where we can trip over each other, annoy one another, and generally just misbehave.
Yeah, me included.
It was after the second teacher meeting that I called the boys together for another hallway whispered chat about behavior. And it was SO needed. I was bent at the waist so that i could more directly look into the eyes of the two shorter children – the two shorter children were the ones who were most in need of my mommy lecture.
I had only just gotten started in my whispered rehashing of the mommy lecture on Appropriate School Behavior when Caden-8yr smiled widely and leaned over and kissed my right cheek.
I lost my train of thought. I was eye to eye with the most adorable little freckled kid ever. And he was quite proud of himself. I was instantly immobilized. As if I’d been tasered. The three boys started giggling. I couldn’t help it. I did, too. I totally forgot the rest of my speech and it IRKED me. Whatever i was going to say was just, poof, gone. I tried a few times to re-start, but couldn’t form a sentence.
I gave up and we walked off to the car. Caden-8yr proudly explained his moment of genius to his brothers, “I just thought if I’d kiss her, she’d stop talking. And it WORKED!” The brothers were thrilled with his quick thinking and patted him on the back for it.
We have one more teacher appointment later this afternoon.
I will watch out for the powerful mommy silencing secret weapon that has now been discovered and prepare accordingly.
I wish I were taller.
I’m spattered in primer. And I have Elmer’s wood filler in my cuticles. But y’all are understanding and do not seem to mind when I show up looking scruffy.
I’m tired. Duke needed to go outside at 4ish this morning. This is not unusual. Not a big deal. I can let the dog out, and in, and never wake up fully. It’s a cultivated skill. But THIS morning when he went out, he saw that the sprinklers were on, and he turned around and came right back in. “Nevahmind. I am afraid of water.”
It didn’t occur to me to let him go out front. Or to try again in a few minutes. Instead, I stared at the ceiling and listened to a large, restless, labrador try to pretend that he didn’t really need to go outside and twinkle. For several hours. I told him that if he accidentally got wet in the sprinklers, he’d eventually dry out and it really wasn’t that big a deal. Fur does dry. I told him if he just twinkled on the side of the house, I wouldn’t mind just this once, because at least then we could both go to sleep, and that way he wouldn’t even have to step foot on the grass.
Then I stared at the ceiling some more, having lost a middle of the night negotiation with a dog.
He’s better. He used to be even more neurotic. Now that the beautiful and fearless Callie is here, he tries to act like a normal dog and he can usually pull it off. Before Callie, he wouldn’t do his backyard business at ANY time if there were roofers working on our roof or on roofs nearby with a view into the yard.
And that may sound funny.
I ASSURE YOU, IT IS NOT FUNNY.
Roofers work some LONG hours. And their workday is longer than the amount of time that Duke can cross his little chocolate furry legs and pretend he doesn’t need to go. But that’s what he’ll do. All day. Every day. Until the roofers go away. When we had a new roof put on in 2009, the dog didn’t do his business normally for weeks. Our roof took 3 weeks. (Don’t get me started on that.) Several times a day, I had to put a leash on him and walk him far enough away that no one could see him. And then he’d go.
And, griping the WHOLE way, I’d walk him back to the house and thoroughly resent that he wasn’t more normal and doglike.
My mother would say, “oh come on. If the roles were reversed, you’d be the SAME way.”
“Uh….? Thanks, Mom. But I’m not the dog, so I don’t have to twinkle in front of roofers. HE TOTALLY SHOULD.”
That was 2009.
In 2012, I had a new roof put on after yet another crazy hailstorm demolished it, and picked a company that said they’d be done in less than 3 days. THANK YOU.
Callie. Gorgeous, fearless Callie is here in 2012. And she runs out and is like, ‘hey! roofers! OVER HERE!” with a few barks, and then she does her business when she knows she has an audience. She’s a showoff. Duke doesn’t want her to know what a total moron dog he is as he is still trying to keep that a secret, and so he goes and while the roofers might be looking at Callie, he does his own thing in a shadow real quicklike.
AND THANK YOU, CALLIE.
If only you’d needed to go out at 4 am today, I’d be completely thrilled with your good influence.
I’ve had two spider bites in my life. They were both in the last year, both after mowing, and both on a butt cheek. Is that too much information? I can’t discuss anything else until I confess that because DANG IT KINDA HURTS IF I LEAN LEFTISH AND THAT’S REAL DISTRACTINGLIKE, OWWW.
No, I don’t think it was a black widow. (It’d just be too ironic and awful if it was the bite of a recluse.) This one looks just like the last ugly bite and that was painful and weird for weeks but I didn’t get sick or die, it just hurt to sit and to try on maid of honor dresses if I wasn’t careful, so it’s mostly an okay precedent.
I’m busy painting everything. Chairs, chests, frames, and the stuff I haven’t painted yet or gotten around to, I envision in various colors that I might try just as soon as I get a chance to get my hands on them.
I just left my favorite paint store. It’s across town and has a bulldog named Bones who hangs out with you while you shop. I had a burning need for orange paint. And lime green. And a fiery red. And more sunflower yellow, because I used up all of mine, and that’s a nice problem. Warm colors. Hot colors. Passionate, statement, can’t miss me colors. Colors I do not wear.
A friend had a need for a milky chocolate and a sea blue/green. Pretty colors. I love it all. I like getting filthy and spattered and to have the colorful streaks in my hair and paint spots on my legs as reminders of the current color palette. I’m a happy, unapologetic mess when I look like that.
And the house looks like a crayon box is exploding everywhere, more and more every day.
But… eh. That’s not a bad thing.
I’d add cushions to those, but it’s a bit difficult to get inspired to do that when you can’t sit down anyway, thanks, stupidspider.
Actually it’s a staple gun issue. It’s too infuriating to even describe.
They’ll be cuter with their seats on. And, you know, functional.
I do not like pills. I’d rather put up with most anything than take a pill. Also, they mess with me. I have various allergies to all kinds of prescription stuff, and the ones that I don’t have allergies to? Well, they just do weird things to me or work TOO well.
I’ve been taking myself off an antidepressant/antianxiety thing for FOREVER. This was a highly organized process because it was extremely addictive and “time release” so you can’t just reduce your dose each day – you instead have to increase the intervals between which you take the stupid pills. I kept track of it in a note on my phone. The last interval between these stupid pills was 9 1/2 DAYS. After 9 1/2 days, that familiar swishing headache came back that would only intensify if I didn’t give in and take the stupid pill and record a new entry in my phone.
But as the intervals increased, and i was so close to being almost off it and totally ‘clean’ — the depression and anxiety stuff was worse. I should have seen that coming. I know. But… notsomuch. I couldn’t POSSIBLY take the kids to chick-fil-a when I said I would because it was “too crowded.” (this was before the whole gay for/against thing. Our chick-fil-a’s are just busy at lunchtime anyway.) The sight of all those cars and people made me lose my breath. No way.
Ethan-12yr understands this about me. It’s not an issue that he shares, but I think I told him about it when he was debilitated by a scar on his knee and he wouldn’t wear shorts for a year. He saw my panicked look and addressed it with a surprising amount of grace.
Instead, we went to a deserted faux-Italian place and ALL three boys accidentally dropped cold noodles on me at one point or another. Seth-6yr sat next to me and kept sniffing me. And Ethan-12yr explained that his deodorant was scented like chocolate and they should sniff HIM. It turned out to be a product I definitely didn’t buy, because it was Axe (ew) and also because I do not agree with the concept of scenting oneself in a way that mimics edible flavors. For any reason.
(You’re at the top of the food chain. God made you inedible. Embrace that truth. It’s a simple one. Don’t shmear on some vanilla cupcake lotion, ladies, or use that strawberry shampoo because it’s just. not. RIGHT. It denies a basic component of your esteemed place in creation.*)
It turned out that the deodorant was a scent called “dark temptation” and Ethan-12yr, being a wonderfully sheltered 12 year old, could only translate that to mean chocolate. Even though it didn’t smell like chocolate. Isn’t that ADORABLE? Ha!
(Take that, Axe! And also, Axe, i hate your marketing. HATE. It’s a strong word. I hate it. if young men shmear on your product, women will not lost control and throw themselves at them, and that’s just irresponsible to keep suggesting otherwise. and also? creepy.)
The lovely therapist lady had pointed out that PERHAPS this is not the best time to get off that pill. She cited a few… reasons. None of which had anything to do with a worrying lack of continuity in this blog entry or an overexcited use of parenthetical asides.
So I went back to the same doctor who has been trying me on ALL KINDS OF THESE THINGS since last year and she came in and was all, “Hey! How’s the divorce?” And I shook my head and said it was still going on and she said, “WHAT? I mean, Tom and Katie were done LIKE THAT!” And she snapped her fingers and I was all, “I! KNOW?! RIGHT????!!!”
And then she put me on Prozac.
I’m a mental health cliche straight from the 1990s.
She said that she thinks I’m “sensitive.” I nodded, depressed as I was, and said that was definitely a problem with me. She clarified that she meant my system was sensitive to drugs and so this one might be a good option. OH, my SYSTEM. Yeah, that too.
HOWEVER. It’s only been a week, and I do see the difference. More energy. Less freaking out around crowds. The highly social act of checking on y’all’s blogs is not too scary anymore. (I’m working up to that.) I could SO handle chick-fil-a. If I wanted to. In another week maybe. And there are black widows in the garage that do not freak me out (okay, this may not be a good thing) and scorpions in the house and… eh. Whatever. My feet aren’t that big – the chances of stomping one accidentally aren’t that high. Live and let live.
Maybe the 90s aren’t so bad.
* actually, i just don’t like ANY of that stuff, and this is the reason I’ve invented for why. sounds awesome and totally biblical though, right?!