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Oh, who the hell am I kidding? Maybe at another point in my life I will have the desire to be serious and use beautifully articulate sentences, but not tonight. Not at this point.
I have replaced the bathroom reading literature as of late. Gone is the clutter of the pile of strewn newspapers and worn magazines. And in their place? Two books--and not just any books. These books were sent to me by a very lovely person who inspires me to smile and find a way to be a bit better than okay with myself. And we haven’t even met, this woman and I. But her books were a wonderful gift. Wonderful for many reasons, but one being that she sent them to me because she wanted me to have them without expecting anything in return.
They are books of daily meditations about letting go and codependency. And the covers of these books are becoming bent and worn around the edges.
And although I haven’t been a very good cyber friend, I want her to know (are you paying attention, friend of mine?) that I think of her literally every day of my life and thank her for coming into my world.
I have also been working very hard at chiseling out a piece of my life for myself. Novel idea, that, eh. But it’s a real problem to allow myself to do something for myself instead of for everyone else. And granted, one of the things is holding an office on a committee that has everything to do with my oldest, but it’s something that is mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. We’ll see how that pans out.
It seems as if everything I have read lately has held some sort of how to find the ‘me’ in ‘mother’ theme, and I’ve taken it to heart. I’ve taken it to heart because I realized suddenly, with a blast so powerful I swallowed the m&m I had in my mouth, that I belonged to everyone else in my life. And I can’t blame anyone else for it because I had given myself to them lock, stock, and barrel. Why the hell wouldn’t they have just taken it?
So I am beginning to switch things up a bit and do the things that I want to do. And that has been resulting in a couple of people having to rearrange their schedules for me. Yeah, the whole world is feeling funny around these parts. But it had to be done.
I just heard a line in “Army Wives,” (and for those of you who watch that show, Denise really pisses me off and I don’t like her. At all.) that went something like, “If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans.” And I got that. I so friggin’ got that.
I am the Queen of Worrying. I told Da Man while he was still in Iraq that worrying defines me, and it did. Hell, it still does to a certain extent. And this weekend has been a very long and trying one to me. Dig this:
Friday afternoon I was left here alone with the girls. I was really looking forward to Mak’s nap so Grace and I could do something artsy. I took Mak into the bedroom, changed her diaper, put her in the crib, and realized that I was holding the cap to the tube of butt salve in my hand. I chased after Tanner, the beagle who has recently moved into our house, thinking he had the tube. The poor dog couldn’t move away from me fast enough, sending me on a race in circles through the house as I accused him of having the tube and begging him to just release it.
After realizing that the dog did not have the tube, I returned to the bedroom to look for it, and there was Mak--in her crib, chewing on the tube of butt salve. And, of course, I freaked. I called Poison Control and was very relieved to find out that butt salve, at least this particular kind, had only the tendency to work as a laxative. (Yeah, who would have ever thought I would be happy to know that my child in diapers would be shitting like a goose?)
A few hours later we’re doing the pumpkin thing. The girls paint their pumpkins, which, by the way, I cannot remember anyone doing when I was a child. We were having a great time, a family bonding time, when I glanced over and caught Mak sucking the paint off her paintbrush like it was a fucking Tootsie roll pop or something. And I freaked. Even though the paint proclaimed to be nontoxic, I freaked. But I refused to call Poison Control twice in less than eight hours because of my soon-to-be 19 month old heathen daughter.
Saturday was filled with two trick-or-treating events here in town. The only upside to this was the knowledge that the costumes which cost a retarded amount of money would be worn more than once. The day was pretty uneventful. There was nothing eaten that shouldn’t have been, at least that I was witness to, and we had a good time.
Grace and I headed to the park today to spend some one-on-one time. I miss her and thought today would be the perfect opportunity to head out there with her and some art supplies, spend some bonding time, and then meet up with Da Man and Mak for my traditional romp in the leaves photos of the girls.
Everything had gone very well. Grace and I had painted some pictures of the trees and the fallen leaves. We had taken some silly pictures of each other for the sheer sake of memories.
After packing our stuff up and heading to a different area of the park, we rolled around in leaves together and took some pretty awesome pictures-based on memories and not content. We had a great time together. And then the camera battery died.
I bounced down the hill to retrieve the new one from the truck and realized, after five or six tugs on the door handles of all four doors, that the doors were locked. And I was totally puzzled by this because I don’t lock the truck. I stood there trying to make sense of it all when I remembered that Grace had locked the doors while we were hanging out in the parking lot, trying to get ahold of Da Man to find out when he and Mak would be at the park. I stood looking through the driver window at the keys laying there right beside the 4x4 stick and was tickled to death when I realized that Da Man was pulling in behind us. And imagine my excitement when I was told that his key was at home and not stuffed somewhere within the truck. Yay, even a trip back to the house didn’t upset me.
We came home for the spare key and returned to the park for the traditional pictures. The girls and I had a blast rolling around on the hill, throwing leaves at each other. I had a very good day. And then we came home.
As Grace was getting out the truck, she somehow got her foot stuck and did a complete somersault out the door, striking her head on the sidewalk. I fried. And I think Da Man did too because he is usually the first one there, but this time he took everything out of my hands and allowed me to be the one who ran to access the damage.
Thanks to The Universe for making skulls so resilient. I cannot believe that she is basically unscathed from that incident. I, however, have acquired a new streak of gray in my hair. Seriously. I am glad the full moon is traveling on because I can’t take much more.
Mom looked at me Friday night after the whole paint sucking incident and told me that I was pale. I am not a drinking woman--anymore--but it took all my restraint to not walk to Friend’s house and say nothing to her when she opened the door but “ Wine. Please.”
It’s been a long weekend. And I’m menstruating.
And I’m turning 37 years old a week from today. Thirtyfuckingseven years old. When the hell did that happen?
But I have been making an attempt to change things about myself. I need to because I’m drowning. I’m not happy much anymore. I don’t keep in touch with people, and when I do it’s because they either want me to do something for them or I simply hear that they have a need I can fill. And that’s not good either.
By the time the girls go to sleep I am pretty much spent. Their bath time and bed time routine is probably my favorite time of the day. But I have been spending a lot of time thinking about what I have to do to make me happier, and that’s a real switch for me because I usually only think about what I can do to make everyone around me happier.
I’m finding a new balance. I’m playing my guitar again. And yes, I’m playing kid songs, but they’re really cool and hip songs. And at least I’m playing.I just reached the point where I realized that I needed to stop with the self afflicting bullshit and get on with it. I needed to stop worrying about filling what I thought were everyone’s quota for me, and that included the blog gig. I need to get back to doing it for my reasons and not just because I feel obligated to post something cute and witty. And now that I’ve said all that, allow me to close this post with a picture accompanied with the caption Why Not To Use Over-the-counter Birth Control:
Note that the rides are moving in these pictures. And I *really* hope that you can catch the look on Grace's face.