We’ve come to that time of our program where I start to lose my mind.
It’s not dramatic or particularly concerning, really. It’s just that between the kids, selling the house, work, and getting married, my brain is full. People ask me questions and I stare at them blankly. I have a stack of mail I keep stuffing in a box (because the house is being shown, and no one wants a house where there’s mail visible!) even though I know there’s things in there I should probably be paying attention to, like bills and paychecks.
The kicker, of course, is that everyone else retains their regular mental capacity, while I find myself staring and drooling and—when pressed—exclaiming things like, “I’M GETTING MARRIED! WOULD YOU LIKE TO BUY A HOUSE?” It’s a wonder anyone is still talking to me.
To wit: A friend of mine with curly hair (this is important) went on vacation last week. Given that I recently decided my stylist hates me but I would sort of like to have nice hair next week, I decided to ask said friend for her stylist’s number. I then proceeded to call her. Repeatedly. Leaving ever-more-frantic messages on her answering machine, until I remembered that she was on vacation. Then I stopped calling.
Until I figured she was back. Then I resumed my calling, now leaving messages like “And if you don’t call me back I’ll have terrible hair and it’ll be ALL YOUR FAULT.”
Today she called, and I got the stylist’s number, and dialed her immediately. All I had to do was say that I wanted an appointment, right? That’s what a normal person would’ve done. I was all “HI! You cut my friend’s hair! And she is pretty! And I would like to be pretty! But my stylist is mean and I think I want to break up with her but I’m getting married next week and my hair is grey and can you please squeeze me in even though I can’t seem to stop talking?”
She will squeeze me in (tomorrow) but I think she was probably very glad when we got off the phone.
[Digression: We took down the twists in Chickadee’s hair this morning and she looked like Diana Ross after a drag race in a convertible. It was frightening. I had to put her hair in two braids just to be sure she’d fit on the school bus, and then the kids missed the bus! Because I temporarily forgot how to tell time!]
And then I called the place I thought I’d take Otto’s ring for engraving, to check and see if they would be able to do it in time, and the guy on the phone didn’t understand my precarious mental state.
Me: So, I need it engraved, but how long will it take?
Him: Oh, a long time. Maybe a month.
Me: A MONTH??
Him: I’m kidding. When do you need it?
Me: Before next Friday.
Him: You really shouldn’t have left this for the last minute, you know.
Me: I had to order the ring from Ireland! And it took a really long time! Can you do it before then or not?
Him: I dunno… probably not.
Him: Just kidding!
Me: I am struggling with an intense dislike of you, right now, but I am willing to put it aside if you can get the damn ring engraved before next Friday.
This had all taken place while I was doing my normal thing: working in my pajamas. It was nearly lunchtime, so I decided to pretend to be an adult and take a shower and get dressed. And my legs needed shaving. So I put a new razor in the shower.
And proceeded to slice off half the skin on my legs. Because I have only been shaving my legs for 23 years or so, and I need more practice.
The shower only took 15 minutes, but it was another 15 minutes to put band-aids all over my knees and ankles, afterwards.
Then, of course, I had another showing this afternoon, because there is no more popular house in the area to come look at and then NOT BUY. I ran around cleaning up and realized that I had a basket full of black bananas. So being the good (and desperate) seller that I am, I whipped up a batch of banana bread, both to get rid of the unsightly bananas and to fill my house with an inviting scent.
The kids came home and I forbid them to touch anything other than the banana bread. I let them have some for snack and then hustled them out the door to go grocery shopping. They behaved like caffeine-addled ferrets at the store so I brought them home and locked them out of the house. Inside, I put away groceries and marveled that a house that smelled SO GOOD could still be on the market.
I vowed to get the kids to bed early and then follow suit, myself, but it’s 11:30 and I’m still up and I have no idea what I did all evening.
Pray for me. Or, at least my hair.