Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

It’s almost baseball season. Do y’all remember my descriptions last year of Seth-6yr’s amazing baseball skills? He has only played two mini t-ball seasons but displayed such speed and skill that he became a darling little sports hero to all who saw him.

I sorta forgot about it, really.

But no matter. I’ve been reminded. You see, people who saw him play last year — people i DO NOT KNOW — are calling. Asking about Seth-6yr. Where is he playing? What league? How is he? Is he committed to a team? Can we ‘freeze’ him? Maybe he has an agent? Could we just talk to his agent, please, and take our negotiations there?

Kidding. Sort of.

But, I’d like people to leave my kindergartener alone, please. Maybe he doesn’t need an agent. He needs a security team. And an unlisted phone number. He already has an overprotective mama.  He’s too young for this. He may be coordinated enough to pull off a triple play, but he’s  still a baby and sometimes he forgets how pants work. So I think maybe it’s all just a little too soon.

For me, certainly.

And for him, probably.

OH, let’s just be list-y.

1. On my fingernails today, OPI’s “Birthday Babe.” It’s a fun silvery shade.

2. On my toenails today, OPI’s “The One That Got Away.” Shimmery, berry color. Grammatically, it bothers me. It should be The One WHO Got Away, but that wouldn’t sound as cute. It’s the sort of color that looks better then longer you look at it. Try not to stare.

3. Also a fave, “Love is a Racket.” It’s a gorgeous shimmery orange-red. I bought it for myself on Valentine’s Day because the name made me laugh. For years my mother would often exclaim, “WHAT? That’s a RACKET!” about any number of topics. And then I started exaggerating her delivery and saying it about, well, everything, because I found it so amusing and then oddly… she stopped saying it altogether. But she never said, “WHAT? LOVE IS A RACKET!” but I thought of her anyway, and how my husband was moving out the very next day and the stupid OPI color made me laugh and so I bought it.

4. I didn’t put it on because it is almost exactly the same orange-red color as OPI’s muppet inspired ”Animal-istic”, which was already on my toes and I was more interested in trying out the shimmery berry “One That Got Away” anyway.

5. Are you about sick of a list about nail colors? Because I could tell you about how WHILE I was painting my nails I was also watching Top Shot and during commercials, running out to the garage and filling in furniture holes with Elmer’s wood filler (LOVE that stuff) and then sanding it down, and that is EXACTLY what you don’t need to be doing at the same time you’re painting your nails Birthday Babe or any other color. Because… well. You have to go back and fix it. A lot.

6. But the furniture looks good.

7. Okay, no it doesn’t. But it looks BETTER.

8. I’ve been collecting cheap, grody furniture with the right ‘lines’ so i can fix it all up how i want it. And researching how to actually do that. (thank you for all your previous tips on that. i printed out all your advice and carry it with me like altoids now. Although, to be fair, not one of you said,  ”I recommend that you don’t repair furniture or orbitally sand anything while having wet nail polish.” I guess y’all just thought I’d know better.)

9. This is brief because I need to go break a few gorgeous nails and strip some furniture.*

*My mother has politely requested that I not refer to my 3 craigslist tables as “my sex offender furniture” even though that is factually VERY true.** He WAS. So I won’t. I’ll just call them ‘tables’ from now on. That’s so very much less… interesting sounding though.

**Well of COURSE I casually said something like, “and over there maybe I’ll put one of my ‘sex offender tables’” JUST to get a kick out of her polite, reserved reaction. And I did. It’s a racket.

But today I’m working on those three exact tables that came from a questionable source. And that’s all I’ll say.

I have just a few minutes. Not long. But i wanted to write very, very quickly and thank all of you. The emails and messages were all kind and supportive and I didn’t necessarily think that would be the case. There is a common theme, though. SO. To those of you who may be interested…

I actually AM doing as well as I sound. I am every bit as peaceful about the whole divorce deal as it seems here. It’s not that I have all the answers about the future, or something fantastic planned, or that I don’t have money concerns. It’s that I do not need the answers, the circumstances, or the plans all laid out before me before I can be okay with life. Even if this were a nasty divorce… it’d be okay. I’ve lived through worse. The kids have lived through worse. No one is in danger here. Not this time.

This IS a big deal. But compared to other stuff… eh. There were years where every single decision and word and action had to be filtered through prayer to know how it affected personal safety. Trusting to be awakened at night if necessary by a very real God, or trusting Him when it was okay just to sleep. So that’s where I come from. And maybe now you can see why I’m not really all that worried.

I don’t care if I need to sell the house or the cars or work full time or start a business… whatever is in store will be okay. I’ll be okay. The kids will be okay. I have no doubts about that, or about the One who I’m trusting to look after us. He’s shown me there’s really no need to ever question Him on that one, and so I don’t.

A couple weeks ago I was well beyond “sick” and was in bed, puffy and miserable. I’d used the last of my air to whisper my way through reading a book out loud to Seth-6yr. He played with my hair while I read about a team of sled dogs, combing his fingers through long sections of hair. “How many hairs do you HAVE, anyway, Mom? Because you have a LOT.”

I shrugged.

He said, “I think you have… one hundred and thirty nine hairs.”

I smiled.

He then proceeded to count slowly to one hundred and thirty nine, and for some reason, he spit on my face with every spoken syllable of the twenties. I blinked a little more and didn’t stop him.

Then he kissed the top of my head, very sweetly, and said, “Jesus knows how many hairs are on your head, Mommy.”

I cried. OH, but that got me!

The God who knows every detail of who you are will take care of you and be there for you, no matter what’s going on in your life, too. He loves you that much.

If you could choose between a fairytale, better-than-your-wildest-dreams marriage.… and a fairytale, better-than-your-wildest-dreams divorce…. you’d pick the first one, right? wouldn’t we all?

I never had a fairytale marriage. Are those real?

But I am having a fairytale divorce.

I’ve been inching toward this decision for 4 1/2 years. Then, in September, I found the lovely therapist lady and told her I was considering it. My mind certainly wasn’t made up. But I wanted someone with objectivity, who shared my faith, to go through it with me, as long as it took and then whenever we were through looking at all the angles, I’d be able to say, “I considered it thoroughly. And this is why I am – or am not – going to get a divorce.” And then once I had that clarity,  go on with my life.

And that’s what happened. She walked me through the indecision and the issues and our past and present and future issues and kid issues and God issues and she’s still doing that, and I’m so glad. OH, I needed her. I still do.

I talked to Mike about it a month ago. And I was FULLY prepared to resist his charm. His repeated and impassioned requests for me to reconsider. A heartfelt plea or a big expensive gesture that would be offered in order to try to convince me to change my mind.

But… none of that was necessary. He didn’t exactly say, “GREAT. I AM SO GLAD, OUTTA HERE!” but he sure didn’t try to change my mind either.  I would have liked the opportunity to stoically say, “I’m sorry. But my mind really IS made up.” But whatever.

Mike moved out yesterday. We talked and laughed and enjoyed each other during the hours the movers were here more than we did on any date in the last ten years.

Just now he brought me a gorgeous new tool set with a million drill bits and wrenches and pliers and much more that I can’t wait to try out, because he’d taken all of his tools and knew I’d miss them.  And he actually just now cleaned the cat’s butt because it needed it and because I’ve never been the cat butt cleaner and I’ll be that eventually if it’s ever needed again (oh i hope not), but it didn’t have to be TODAY.

The kids were very upset when we told them on Saturday. Then we ate dinner and all curled up and watched a movie together. And ever since then they’ve been exceptionally peaceful about all of life in ways that I never would have expected and still do not understand. They’re excited about many of the new things happening and are choosing to focus on that instead of the sadness, I suppose. They seem more at ease now than they did a week ago when they still didn’t know, but there was this unknown force and tension in the house that was making us all cranky.

Now everything is out in the open and they’re not cranky.

I’m figuring out my life, and where it will go and what I’ll do and for now and I am just so grateful for these kids, for God’s grace over all of us right now, for Mike right this second, and for this (so far) really lovely divorce.

Last week I saw a bumper sticker that said “i heart my marriage!” and I rolled my eyes and wondered why it didn’t read “I heart my husband”? But whatever. Mine would read: “I heart my divorce!” Or, “I heart my soon to be ex husband!” But I guess they don’t make bumper stickers like that.

This morning I was really grateful because I accidentally spray painted the inside of an Escalade* and I thought, “Ha!! Any other day in the last 15 years I would have felt morally obligated to call Mike and confess that i just did that…” Not that he would have been upset. But still. I didn’t have to do that. And that’s a new thing to appreciate.

*I didn’t mean to. Obviously. I wasn’t even holding the spray paint can. I was actually DRIVING. It was a lever/trigger style can I had just purchased and something else that was heavy rolled into it and smushed it into the ON position and I heard this “SSSSSsssssSSSSsssssSSSS” sound and I dont have much of a sense of smell so I just kept driving and wondering if the kids’ headphones were on or what that sound could be, and then there was a definite fume-i-ness going on so I pulled over and… yeah. There’s not a paint mess, really, as that was all contained. It just smells AWFUL in there. it’s exactly the kind of dumb thing you don’t want to do EVER, but especially not right after you get over a massive respiratory thing.

(I love you all.)

Yesterday my mother called. Her sister, HolyAuntie had read that last post. And HolyAuntie, via J-Mom,  said exactly what Mother T said in the comment section, plus a little more. (you followed that, right?)

So I called the doctor and got an unhelpful recording, and then decided I can do this. I CAN BREATHE. Surely with a little creativity and a lot of willpower I can do this.

And? i can. If I sit really still and don’t laugh or yell or cry and if I self -medicate with steam and heat and hot drinks… I can do this without any drugs. This is in itself a big improvement because that approach never would have worked two days ago.

Although I cant’ help but remember my childhood friend Stephanie. She was an only child and lived with her mom who was a scuba diver. There was an oxygen tank on the floor beneath the bar at her house where we would sit and have a snack and swing our feet. But she’d always casually say, “oh don’t kick that. it’s oxygen and it could explode.” and i can’t help but wonder if we had an oxygen tank under our kitchen bar area if it would have been helpful this week. not that we would have one of those. my kids would have kicked it until it exploded, “just to see.” But I’ve thought wistfully of all that gorgeous oxygen just sitting around unused and unappreciated in a tank in Stephanie’s house.

YEA! So, I’m practically fine. (I won’t do all the stuff I need to, Geekwif. I’m channeling into lists and leaving it there.)

It’s a snow day, so I don’t need to take kids to school, or pick them up or do anything besides sit and concentrate on happy oxygen rich thoughts.

I plan to serve leftovers for lunch. And for dinner. And then I’ll stare at fabric samples online. And get kids to do laundry. (this requires only whispering and pointing) And… no. I think that’s all.

Breathe in, breathe out, repeat.

okay, i am definitely resting.

i haven’t left the house in three days because the air outside is cold and cold air makes me cough and then i can’t stop. so i stay home and skip basketball games and my mom gets the kids from school and i just stay put. but even that is not enough, because if i get too close to the refrigerator when it’s open, or too close to the back door when the dogs are coming or going, then i fall apart.

cold air = baaaaaad.

and it’s snowing. so we have lotsa cold air.

fortunately mike remembered our old nebulizer, left over from baby ethan’s bout with rsv.  he dug it out of some cabinet, unearthed some expired-in-2003 albuterol thingies, and set me up and i claw my way toward that machine every 3 hours like clockwork. and that’s the only reason i haven’t been hauled to the emergency room. so yea, mike, and thank you.

i am about as delicate as a doily.

and as useful.

i’m accomplishing absolutely nothing. not even breathing.

i need to go through every last piece of bedroom furniture and empty it all by tuesday night. i need to move stuff that is upstairs, downstairs. and vice versa. and there’s more.

but for now i’d settle for a really good deep breath and a nap.

all of this nothing is exhausting.

i miss air.

it’s longer than i expected and i am bored and impatient with the journey.

so y’all were right. i finally saw a doctor. and for ALL the stuff that was prescribed my way, i should TOTALLY be feeling better by now since that was a couple days ago, but i’m still a wheezy gaspy lifeless little thing who hasn’t accomplished the pressing items on her to-do list.

there was a chest x-ray, to check for pneumonia. it’s not pneumonia, it’s bronchitis.

the boys were APPALLED that i needed a chest xray and Caden-8yr buried his mortified face in his hands when i had to admit that this did involve removing clothing. he gets upset for me. i mentioned the little backless robe i got to wear, but it didn’t help.

then there was a shot in the right butt cheek.  i’m not sure what was in that shot. i’m all proactive about my health like that.

caden-8yr asked if i had to pull my pants down or if i’d requested that they just inject my butt through my jeans. i said that was an EXCELLENT idea, but I hadn’t thought of it, so yes, the pants came down. he violently covered his face with his hands and rubbed until his little face turned splotchy pink. he was THAT bothered. he sighed. ‘were you wearing clean underwear?’ “UH, YES.” ‘what color?’ “green lace” and again with the covering of the face to blot out this story.

(I’m SUCH an embarrassing mother)

I got penicillin-free antibiotics and two different kind of inhalers and instructions to rest. because the doctor hasn’t seen my to-do list and doesn’t understand the time sensitive nature of these tasks. i suppose she has other concerns.

the timing of this could NOT be worse. it really couldn’t.

the other day i asked mom to drive me to petsmart, push the cart, and then lift the bags of dog food because there was no way i could do any of that and the dogs needed food. she did. she works out. giant dog food bags were nothin for her. i flopped in the passenger seat because i didn’t have enough neck strength to hold my head up.

i considered canceling my weekly appointment with the lovely therapist lady. i like her and didn’t want to expose her to my nasty germs. but then i got all selfish and thought there was NO way that this week i could skip her and so i just prayed that she was particularly immune. then i went in and sat on her couch (same couch as ever) and it was suddenly so SOFT and CUSHY and i just couldn’t help but spread out and lie all over it and get real comfy. i don’t know if it’s all the medication or the sickness, or the decreased oxygen to the brain as a result of the wheezing coughing mess, but i couldn’t finish a sentence i started. i kept starting and then stopping and then rephrasing and then there were ENDLESS rabbit trails and side stories and i was generally just not myself. i like to think that i usually sit upright and there’s a meaningful, coherent exchange. yesterday was more like the odd ramblings of a jellyfish. i’m still glad i went. i do hope her immunity is high, though.

i’m hoping to be well enough later to look at antique stuff with mom. i want old furniture for cheap that i can refinish. and this thing with mom is important because the alternative is craigslist, which i tried out for the very first time a couple weeks ago and wouldn’t you know it? i picked out end tables  from a registered sex offender. after a few weird emails, i googled his name. and that’s how i knew. and then i asked mike if he’d pick up everything for me and he did and i was glad. BUT. i really do like my sex offender furniture. i just hope i don’t always think about it like that.

ok, i’m still a little rambly. i know. i just noticed. i’m stopping.

It’s a good thing I don’t get sick often, because I’m really bad at it. I will deny the existence of symptoms and their effects for a VERY long time. By the time I should have seen a doctor, whatever it is has almost gone or already been forgotten entirely.

Today I finally admitted I was sick. Not yesterday, when I didn’t get out of bed at all. Today was the day of truth. Iv’e been denying symptoms for almost two weeks and going on with life as normally as possible. You haven’t heard about it because for me, it didn’t exist.

(The only exception to this is to not be around the church 2 yr olds who don’t need to be infected.)

But today. 

I cracked.

I haven’t really had enough extra oxygen to both talk and breathe, normally, much less get other things done that SO desperately need getting done. This is a very ill timed (ha) sickness, as it coincides with a time where I actually have seemingly endless to do lists. And not even the air to speak at a volume above a whisper. How frustrating. Just TRY to mother three boys with a voice like that. (actually, go ahead and try. it was so sweet. they all started whispering.)

Then, to add to THAT, is the extra awfulness of finally cracking in half and crying over it all so that Caden-7yr and Seth-6yr both got wide eyed and scared to pieces and started crying themselves because their mother had a nasty coughing fit and then fell apart and it made no sense.

Ethan-11yr did not get scared and start crying. He backed up a couple of steps and said, “you should probably see a doctor.”

To which I cried harder and whispered, “no.”

I used up all of my nonexistent energy on cleaning and laundry and mothering and cooking chicken and  then totally by instinct – not EVEN consciously – making chicken soup. Who knew that sick, emotionally out of control vegetarians even HAD that instinct? (of course I won’t EAT it, don’t be ridiculous.)

It hurts to blink. And breathe. And I won’t even begin to describe the rest of it, you’re welcome. This thing is almost gone. It’ll just take a couple more days. I’m not looking for pity or suggestions.  I just generally share my life here, with y’all, whether it’s pleasant or not. And here we are, at the Most Unpleasant.

Enjoy the game tonight. I’ll hopefully be asleep. Love y’all.

Today I’m home with Seth-6yr. For some reason, by the time our kids say, “you know… my ear hurts just a tiny bit” they are actually already in need of an emergency room because something is about to burst and they just didn’t feel it before. If a kid even TOUCHES an ear, mike and I start making medical plans because a doctor will invariably look and say, “THAT IS THE WORST EAR INFECTION I HAVE EVER SEEN. WHY IS THIS KID NOT FALLING DOWN SCREAMING IN PAIN?”

We’ve heard it a lot. With all of them. I guess they just have incredibly high pain tolerance in their ear parts. Or no nerve endings. I don’t know. We’re venturing into anatomy issues there, and my extreme ignorance is showing. All I know is that seth-6yr was FINE yesterday and he said… “huh. my ear...” and i told Mike, and then Mike had him at a doctor within two hours and it was BAD and then we were all up all night and it’s a pattern we’ve gone through lots of times around here.

So i made Seth-6yr couscous for lunch and he requested it to be served alongside pistachios and sesame sticks. I had sushi for breakfast with a side of potato chips, so I didn’t object to his request. Quiet day.

Yesterday afternoon I hunted for a bed. I wanted something smaller than what we currently have, and girly. Really, i wanted an old wooden bed with pretty curvy lines that I could get for cheap and then strip and paint how I want. Not that I know how to do that. Yet. But I’ll learn.

My first stop was at a consignment store my mom suggested. She’d gotten a great table there a couple years ago. I was on the lookout for anything chippendale or french provincial looking. And in a back room, on a counter, I saw something as I was walking out the door. Not what I was looking for, but eye-catching in any case.  It looked like a cat. Asleep in a basket. I went back to get a closer look and screamed. It was a totally involuntary, unintentional scream – I generally don’t like to make a scene.

It  was definitely a cat. In a basket. A TAXIDERMIED CAT IN A BASKET.

Not asleep, as I first thought, but more like DEAD and STUFFED, which is WAY different in my opinion. I made myself get closer and I held out my phone over it so that i could take a picture. Sometimes I do that just because  I know that later I’ll tell my mom and she’ll say, “did you take a picture?”  So I took a picture. And i was glad i have REALLY long arms because i didn’t want to get any closer to the dead cat than I had to. When I looked at my picture, I noticed that the tag read “not for sale.”

I suppose they had to put that there, because they were tired of the stampede of consignment shoppers who were constantly hauling the dead cat to the cashier station only to be told that no, I’m so sorry, but Fluffy is not for sale. I”m sure there was a REAL GREAT NEED for that and all, and only now that the tag reads ‘not for sale’ can the poor cat rest in peace.

Except for all the screaming women.

ICK. I got out of there.

I found a 100 yr old bed in need of new paint at an antique store for a good price, took a picture, bought it, and was glad that part of the project was over without hours of browsing. I hate hours of browsing.

Last night, Mom emailed me an eBay listing for a bed which fit my description. Of the BED. And on the bed was a GIANT TAXIDERMIED COW/MOOSE/SHEEP/GOAT/ I HAVE NO IDEA, AND GO AHEAD AND CLICK AND THEN YOU TELL ME WHAT IT IS/ HEAD.

Why didn’t they think that might put off a few prospective bidders? you know?

“Well, do you think we should remove the GIANT DEAD ANIMAL before we take the picture of the pretty bed?”

“Nah! Why? It shows ‘scale.’ Like when you put a penny in a picture of earrings so that they buyer knows how big they are. That’s what this blank-eyed dead animal is doing. No one minds the penny. No one would mind the lifeless livestock either.”

I mean, is that how it went? Or did NO ONE even consider raising the question of moving the head off the bed? As far as taxidermied animals go…. I’m not as bothered as I’m letting on. Sort of. I mean, if there’s a deer or a pheasant on a wall, FINE. It’s Texas. Whatever. I won’t look and wonder about its dead relatives who missed him or her and wistfully looked around the great outdoors forever in search of their lost loved one but it’ll take effort and it’s not a big deal. I’m really okay with it.

BUT. If there’s a giant dead animal with a weird two-tone effect in its fur lounging on a bed I may be interested in (and I’m not. mine was waaay cheap and didn’t come with dead stuff), or if there’s a dead CAT hanging around having to pretend to sleep in a basket to disguise its own deadness for all eternity… then I suddenly mind. Those two things are just not okay with me.

Because I’m SURE we all needed to clarify our preferences on taxidermy today. Come on, admit it. It was on your to-do list also.

And now i need to figure out the next part of this idea. If you know anything about refinishing furniture, by all means, please enlighten me!

* those ebay links won’t last long. act now if you want in on this bargain.

** I asked Seth-6yr. He says it’s a goat. I pointed out that it has antlers (you have to enlarge it to see) and asked if it maybe it were a deer. But he said no. And then he said that no one would want to buy a bed with goat hairs.  EXACTLY.

Seth-6yr: Can you marry two people?

Me: Um… not at the same time.

Seth-6yr: GOOD. THAT IS GOOD.

Me: Why?

Seth-6yr: Well. Ben wants to marry O’Libya AND Emma. And I just want to marry O’Libya. So I’ll tell Ben he cannot do that, and that he should just go ahead and marry Emma and then I will marry O’Libya.

Seth-6yr’s teacher assures me that all the boys in the class are smitten with the lovely O’Libya. I just hope Seth-6yr doesn’t propose to her on Valentine’s Day. I’m just not ready for that.

Even though he clearly thinks he has it all figured out.