I feel like we are busy all the time and there are a million things happening at once AND YET I am also somehow getting nothing done. This is… probably not good. Some of it is under my control and some of it is genuinely not, but even the stuff I can control is often being replaced by other, perhaps less pressing, things. Because I’m a dumbass.
Thought: “Oh, I should really work on revising my resume.”
Action: Revising my resume.
Action: Spend a week cultivating my own sourdough starter, commence various baking experiments, throw away a few loaves, eventually produce decent sandwich bread for my family.
Thought: “Right, we have all those things to schedule this summer. I should get on that.”
Action: Scheduling those things.
Action: Scheduling things for the 300 volunteer committees I am somehow serving on, as well as finally submitting some receipts for reimbursement because a year ago I bought some candy for the concessions stand to sell and I just remembered.
So basically I am about a year behind on… stuff… and in the meantime MAH BAYBEE is graduating in less than two months and MAH OTHER BAYBEE is also doing non-baby things and I am verklempt. So! A few recent snippets:
State of the bathroom address
Remember our bathroom renovation? The one that was supposed to take 4 days? Today is Day 29. The bathroom is functional but not complete. DAY TWENTY-NINE AND NOT COMPLETE. We have not heard from the contractor lately. The last time one of his guys was here, he was supposed to remove the trash (pieces of trim, bags of grout and thinset, boxes, etc.) and did not. So the room just outside the bathroom is still filled with detritus. The mirror—which we just got on Friday—is scratched in multiple places. The tub is also chipped. This entire thing has been a clusteryouknowwhat from beginning to end and my coping method right now is basically just to not go upstairs. How will it end? Well, I don’t know all the details, but I suspect that “9 years of us wholeheartedly recommending this contractor to others” ending is part of it.
State of the furballs address
The last time I took the dogs to the vet, Duncan—our Fluffybutt of Perpetual Ear Infections—got some sort of special goop injected into his ear canals which the vet said should not only clear him up but keep him clear for a while. To my amazement, it worked! Duncan’s ears are pink and lovely. Praise be. On the other hand, lately I have invited him up onto the couch only to have him continue staring at me imploringly until I lift him up, so I think he’s not feeling so hot. (Monkey has been composing various ballads about “Brave Sir Dorklump”—Duncan—and one had a verse about how he’s “the quickest and the brightest,” so I interrupted with “NOPE” and he triumphantly concluded “… that verse was false / In truth he has arthritis.” I appear to be raising the next Monty Python.)
For her part, Licorice has decided that a certain chair in the living room right by the window is where she should stand guard and bark at every dust mote in the world. That’s fun. I think it’s a result of having workers going in and out for so long, but regardless, she is loud and we’re trying to teach her that she’s not allowed on that chair. Make no mistake, she KNOWS she’s not allowed on that chair, she just NOCURR. So I will walk into the room, she’ll be there on the chair, she’ll turn and look at me, and for a moment, our gazes lock… and then she jumps down. I’m not saying I’ve started trying to sneak in there and surprise her when she’s on the chair, I’m just saying it’s pretty funny when I manage it.
State of the pollen address
OH MY GOD I CAN’T BREATHE. That’s all. (Not really. Monkey had a sinus infection and then Chickadee got… we don’t even know what… but has had little voice for about a week and YOU WOULD THINK that would be delightful, but you would be wrong. The only thing worse than a teenager yelling at you in indignation is a teenager squeaking at you in indignation.) Also: We cleaned a bunch of stuff outside one weekend and now it’s all covered again because Mother Nature is a jerk.
State of the growing-as-a-person address
APPARENTLY one of my kids is nearly a grown-up, or something, which means I am currently in recovery for a lifelong condition and making steady, if slow, progress. Baby steps, I guess.