Love’s tied up in the laces
It’s incredibly hard to type while you’re dancing. Especially when you’re doing a little jig. And believe you me, I am doing a jig right now. I’m busting a move the way only a woman in an empty house can, because today is THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL.
(Dun dun dun!)
There’s absolutely nothing else like the first day of a new school year. The excitement; the inability to sleep the night before (them AND me); the carefully thought-out lunches (unlike the ones I’ll throw together in a hurry, later this year); the planned outfits; and—of course—the new shoes.
First day of school = new sneakers. I’m pretty sure that’s in the Bible. read more…
A very southern back-to-school
School starts tomorrow.
(And all of God’s people said “AMEN.” And possibly “Thank you, Jesus!” And maybe even “I love you so much, now GET OUT OF MY HOUSE.”)
Last year, we were new, and the school the kids’ attend was somewhat in flux for a variety of reasons that aren’t important or particularly interesting. And the amount of information we—as a new family, having no idea what the heck was going on—were given was… well, I won’t say they gave us NO information, but it was… LACKING, is all I’m saying. We did find out about back-to-school night, at least. But we were never given a bus number. And no one told us about the Parent Coffee thing that would’ve been extremely useful to me, you know, as a NEW PARENT TO THE SCHOOL. Whatever.
This year, we’re all settled in and information is flowing out our ears, whether we like it or not. read more…
Free at last, free at last
503 days ago a realtor came to my house in New England and put a giant FOR SALE sign on my lawn.
Five. Hundred. And three (don’t forget the THREE!). Days ago.
For 397 days I have carried two mortgages. More accurately, for 397 days Otto has graciously both paid the mortgage on our house AND listened to me whine and wail as I paid the other mortgage.
This morning the sale of that house closed. It sold for almost 20% less than the original asking price. My “net proceeds” don’t even cover the conservative loan I took against it so that we could buy THIS house. Negotiating the equity split with my ex was slightly less enjoyable than that time my finger got slammed in a car door.
And none of it matters any more, because it’s over, and I am celebrating. I’d done a pretty bang-up job of repressing exactly how stressful this was, but now I realize I should totally be given a medal just for not becoming a junkie in the last year.
Equal time
It has come to my attention that I may have inadvertently managed to bias my readers, a little bit, when it comes to the presentation of my darling children. Although it should go without saying that I find the two of them equally charming, there are some factors, perhaps, which may cause my representations of them here to be a bit… distorted. Some have said that I often post about Chickadee’s transgressions but rarely about Monkey’s, leading some to believe that Chickadee is a hoodlum-in-training and Monkey is a tiny, male Mary Poppins—practically perfect in every way.
This is patently ridiculous, of course. Chickadee is ALREADY a hoodlum, and Monkey doesn’t even own a magical carpet bag.
No, no no no no. I mean, come on. There is no favoritism here. My children are different and wonderful in their own ways, and just in case there was any doubt, my son is just as capable of being a complete buttmunch as his sister. read more…
Small signs
My job, right now, is to keep things as normal as possible ’round here, for the kids, and try not to let on that I’m exhausted and stressed out and worried and generally not at all interested in cooking or working or listening to the story of how that one Pokemon totally defeated that other one.
Some days this is easier than others.
Today I decided that maybe if I sandwiched together a bunch of errands it would 1) take up most of the day and 2) make it less obvious to the children that I was making sure we all have outfits appropriate for wearing to a funeral. Maybe I just think Monkey needs a tie because people keep mistaking him for a girl and that Chickadee needs a pair of dress flats because she’s about to start 5th grade. Who knows, right?
Back to that whole “no interest in cooking” thing: I decided we would start our travels by going out to lunch. read more…
Limbo
It turns out that you can get a lot of laundry done on about three hours of sleep. Also, you can pay all of the bills, do a small amount of work, spend some time with your children, make a billion phone calls, and spend an inordinate amount of time just staring at your computer, trying to remember what in the world it was you were supposed to be doing.
Otto is now up in Boston with his mom and the rest of his family, and they are all waiting up there and we are all waiting down here, and I’m really not sure which one sucks more. In fact, I’m just going to go out on a limb and say that it all pretty much sucks, here or there, up or down; even Dr. Seuss could not find a way to make this anything other than what it is, which is just plain rotten.
Otto is—like most men, you know, the ones from Mars—a fixer. I tease him about it all the time. Never before in my life have I wanted so badly to just fix something that is so completely unfixable. read more…
Handling
I know God will not give me anything I can’t handle. I just wish that He didn’t trust me so much.
— Mother Teresa
I am no Mother Teresa. Just in case you were wondering.
Otto’s mom is in the ICU, a thousand miles away; and while God may trust us plenty, quite frankly I think He’s being kind of an asshole right now.
And in other news. . . .
Sometimes there comes one of those times when all of my neuroses and stressors and fears bubble up and boil over here, and I write a heavy post and I cover my eyes and hit “Publish” and wait for the scolding that I’m sure will ensue. And then all of you are so sweet and kind and supportive, leaving nice comments and sending encouraging emails, and then I feel so lucky and loved and—dare I say it?—NORMAL again.
It’s a beautiful thing. Truly.
Until the next day… when I realize that a post like that and the resultant outpouring of support is a very tough act to follow. Because really, what’s a reasonable follow-up to the laid-bare frustration of wondering if I have somehow completely ruined my children? The mood must be lightened, but is it somehow sacrilegious to do so? read more…
The whole sordid tale
Oh, there’s so much else I’d rather talk about. Like how we’re having company for dinner tonight, which I love, because it means I get to show off my dining room (but I’m TOTALLY SUBTLE about it, you know, just saying offhand things like “Tell me the plaster is pretty or I’ll cry”) and also that I get to experiment with new recipes.
Sure, I could do new recipes just for my family. And I DO, sometimes. But on a Monday I’m not terribly likely to start planning dinner at 9:00 in the morning unless we’re having company. SUE ME. Nevertheless: Maple-lime glazed salmon! Basil-lime sorbet! Let’s pretend this weekend never happened! WHO WANTS SECONDS?
And I struggled with this, because I have no desire to impugn my kids when I relate stories about them. But this was A Very Big Deal and I suspect a landmark event for our family, so I’m going to go ahead and lay it out and put some extra money in the therapy fund. read more…
Not exactly a scrapbook page
Parenting 101, Intro to Parenting: Feed, diaper, soothe, burp.
My grade: B
My feeling: Relief that we all survived.
Parenting 201, Continued Topics in Parenting: Teach, read, watch, shape.
My grade: B+
My feeling: Mostly amnesia, with a vague sense of accomplishment.
Parenting 301, Discipline in Parenting: Expectations, rules, consequences.
My grade: C
My feeling: A on homework, D on tests. More work needed.
Parenting 399, Advanced Discipline Practicum — Family Vacation Lab: “Last warning: If you don’t stop, we are going home RIGHT NOW.”
My grade: A+
My feeling: Is this what success feels like? Because it feels an awful lot like we drove all day and dropped a wad of money on proving a point.