My favorite child
Did you know that school is finished for the year here in just a few weeks? (And before the usual slew of “No fair! You get out so early!” comments that this usually brings, allow me to point out that the kids went back to school the first week of August. They’ve had a whole year.) Anyway, it’s true. School is nearly out for the summer.
Just a few more weeks to get through, which means that everyone’s Great Big Hairy Meltdown is right on schedule for… now.
This happens every year. I have no idea why it surprises me, every time. But the children are… oh, a little on edge, let’s say. Moreso than usual. And my tried-and-true rule about only one child having an issue at a time seems to go out the window, this time of year. Or, you know, THIS ENTIRE YEAR. (See also: hurry the hell up, 2013.) read more…
A somewhat poodley anti-climax
After eight years of babbling about my innermost feelings online, I’ve learned a lot of things. Mostly I’ve learned that you’d much rather we talk about my hair than my angst. (I’m trying not to take it personally.)
People who know me in real life (a.k.a. Friendship Outside The Shiny Box) generally fell into two camps after I wrote about my hair last month: The first group read that post, called me up to say, “Really? REALLY?” and then forgot about it, while the second group called me up to lobby their specific preference and then came back a time or two (or twelve) over the next few weeks to see what I’d decided. The latter group tickled me endlessly because 1) it’s just hair, 2) it’s not even YOUR hair, and 3) I just can’t get that invested in the process because IT’S JUST HAIR.
And yet, a decision was made, and an appointment was made, but then there was radio silence because I’m a selfish monster. Or because my stylist didn’t have an opening for several weeks. And also because I was sort of tired of talking about it. (See also: JUST. HAIR.) But because I know y’all care deeply, let’s talk about it some more! read more…
It’s true, we totally rock (updated with a pic)
You may remember that one piece of my recent weekend of doing pretty much nothing included a landscaping estimate. This is because my darling husband seems to believe that the outside of our house is supposed to look a certain way.
I’m not saying he’s wrong, I’m just saying I’m a lot better at, shall we say, selective visual fields than he is. Why, the weekend before the do-nothing weekend, Otto had declared a family yard pick-up day, and I’m not saying it didn’t look great when we were done, I’m just saying that this is a Mars/Venus issue.
What I think when I look at the front yard: Grass! Birds! Pretty!
What Otto thinks when he looks at the front yard: Maybe today we can pick up all of the sticks and branches that fell up by the big tree and then along the sides, there, and drag it all back into the debris pile in the woods. Then we can trim the bushes, rake all of the leaves and other crap out of the front beds, trim all of the greenery, weed, and spread new pine straw when that’s all done. And finally I’ll ride around on the mower for a while, because the grass has grown a full half an inch since the last time I did that.
(In my defense, I did pick up a LOT of sticks that day.) read more…
Friends don’t mind if you barf
So I forgot to put that on the list of things I know about girlfriends, but it’s true. I have an old friend from my former, northern life here visiting ever-so-briefly, and she brought her son (who falls between Chickadee and Monkey, age-wise), and last night he suffered from either a pernicious migraine or some food poisoning (the jury is still out) and ended up having a very long evening indeed. Y’all know I simply do not deal well with vomit, but because they are my friends and I love them I tried REALLY HARD not to dry heave while handing over the bucket the cleaning wipes and such.
I’m a giver.
The good news is that he’s feeling much better this morning; the bad news is that it’s time for them to leave (boo). In light of their visit, however—and that realization I have whenever I get the all-too-rare chance to spend some quality time with a wonderful girlfriend—I’m over at Off Our Chests today, musing on the power of awesome gal pals. Come on over and tell me what would make your list of must-have qualities.
My big fat gluten-free corneal abrasion
[Thank you for the sweet comments yesterday. I’m pleased to report that the day did indeed improve, thank God, and a good time and a massive chocolate-cake-stupor was enjoyed by all yesterday evening. Go make this flourless cake immediately, whether you’re gluten-free or not. I may never make anything else again.]
So I’ve been meaning to tell you this story for a while, but it was while rereading yesterday’s post and saying to my husband, “HAHA! You can’t tell I’m off my meds at all from that! HAAAAA!” that I realized it was time for a good-size dose of levity—the kind of levity that only 1) confused people and 2) me being a dork can provide.
(You’re welcome!)
Anyway, perhaps you have gleaned that due to recent events I am in full-on hermit mode. I mean, I drive children to doctors’ appointments and stuff, but I do not socialize. I do not dress up. I do not go anywhere I don’t HAVE to, because every ounce of energy is currently focused on keeping the particles in my body from spontaneously breaking off and shooting into space due to stress. (Well, no, that’s never happened, but it COULD, right?) Of course in the midst of this, my husband had to go win a big award. read more…
I have to believe
I have to believe that when we look back—years from now—we will laugh. I have to believe we WILL look back, together, you still you and me still me and the two of us still a we that makes sense and makes us laugh until we gasp for air, until we can no longer remember why it was so funny in the first place.
I have to believe that this is the hardest it will be, at least until we’re strong enough to face stuff that’s even harder. I have to believe that when I hold your face in my hands and tell you it’s all going to be okay, I promise, that I am not lying. I tell you that your mother doesn’t lie, but that’s crap and we both know it. I lie. I lie to you; I lie to myself. Sometimes it’s the only way I can keep breathing. Sometimes lying is the closest I can come to turning dangerous hope into tangible prayer. If that hurts you, I am sorry, and I hope you know that’s never my intention. I have to believe that a part of you knows without question that no matter what, I do believe in fairies.
I have to believe that this inauspicious start to your fifteenth year on this planet is the low point, from which all following events will rise and surpass your expectations. read more…
Mir just became the Mayor of Meansville!
It’s Tuesday, so I’m going to redirect you to Off Our Chests, this time to confirm what you already knew—I’m a jerk. I’m mean! All of the other parents are cooler than I am!
[Aside: Chickadee has one friend who thinks I’m awesome. I have no idea where she got this idea, but I’m not about to disabuse her of it. Every time I give her a ride somewhere or she comes over or I see her at a school function or whatever, she laughs at my lame jokes and tells Chickie I’m the coolest mom ever. I’ve started calling her My Favorite Daughter and I’m SURE that’s helping the already-strained relations ’round here, right? Because the only thing better than one of your friends thinking your terrible mom is actually a human being is your mom making it clear that she’s lapping it up. Heh.]
Anyway. Tomorrow my darling daughter turns 14 (related: HOW DID THIS HAPPEN??), and I have many presents I need to go wrap for her. But the thing she wants the most—and still isn’t getting—is Facebook. Because I’m a monster, obviously. C’mon over and weigh in. (I give it about an hour before someone with a creative name like “Anonymous” tells me how wrongishly wrong and stupid I am.)
Things to do on the weekend
A handy guide to Fun and Hilarity for your weekend, if you happen to be me and have lofty plans of how supergreat your weekend is going to be in spite of the fact that you neglect to actually plan it out in any way, shape or form.
If you are a beginner, don’t attempt all of these options in a single weekend. Pace yourself! But if you’re me, you can indeed find a way to cram all of these events into a single two-day stretch. People, I’m a professional.
Without further ado, things to do on the weekend:
1) Nothing. Doing nothing isn’t as easy as it sounds, because rarely does one truly do absolutely nothing. The Mir-version of nothing involves parking on the couch with a lot of snacks and an entire season of America’s Next Top Model while one’s husband and children are away. A sleepy dog in your lap is optional but quite nice. read more…
Strawberries fix (almost) everything
Hey, let’s talk about the kid who still likes me!
So I may have mentioned that we suspected Monkey had another sinus infection. It was a kind of deja vu to last year’s pre-surgical carnival of Angry Monkey; his behavior has been steadily deteriorating for a month, and all the while he insists he feels FINE he is FINE it’s just that everyone else is STUPID and MEAN and why are you LOOKING AT HIM? Things at school have been rough, and I’ve been back in that place where I say, “He’s sick. This isn’t him. Please be patient, we’re working on it.” And whether it’s reality or not, it feels like even the wonderful Hippie School teachers are not quite believing me, and in the meantime, I’m slipping the kid Advil every morning and on the phone with the ENT’s office, begging them to find him an appointment, a cancellation, ANYTHING, please.
I’ve realized our pediatrician is fairly useless when it comes to Monkey’s ninja sinuses, so that’s why I was waiting for the ENT appointment. I gritted my teeth and waited and finally yesterday was his appointment. read more…
A revised Serenity Prayer
This one goes out to all of my fellow parents of teenagers, with love and respect.
God, grant me the serenity to accept that the only difference between teens and psychopaths is that most teens eventually change,
The courage to smile around gritted teeth and ground the offender,
And the wisdom not to smother anyone in their sleep no matter how tempting.
I’m not saying that things won’t change, because—as ever—my mantra is “this too shall pass,” I’m just saying that right now we are realizing that things are pretty off-kilter around here, and it’s time to find that missing balance. That turns out to take a lot of time and energy (who knew?) and resolve.
It’s almost like being a parent is hard, or something. Huh.