lax-a-daze-i-cal

OK, I know I am supposed to be working…working hard to pay my mortgage, buy xmas wreaths from the diva's school fundraisers, pay my electric bill, etc. etc. And I do. But for some reason, small pockets of pleasurable time have forced their way into my life. And I have allowed, and invited, them in.

Lately, my pleasure has been grabbing a 30 minute nap in my car when I pull into the parking garage at work. I find a quiet corner, crank my seat back, turn on NPR low, and catch a snooze. It's wonderful. It's weird. But I like it. I have confessed this to a few people and they just stare at me. One guy in my office even seeks out my car in the morning to see if he can catch me sleeping. But I am a stealth sleeper, so that will never happen. Sadly, soon I won't be able to do it because it will be too cold. I like my car really warm. Especially the seat warmers. Those come in handy even in summer when we are blasted with air conditioning from every angle.

The other pleasure that has become more of a habit is sleeping fully clothed. When I put the girls to bed, I tell them I am going to lie with them for five minutes. Then, I get all snuggly with their sweet breath, soft skin, and little thumb sucking sounds that I stay for five more minutes. By that time, I am so engrossed in whatever story we are listening to, that I give in and let sleep engulf me. Last night it was Nancy Drew, "The Secret of Twin Elms" read by Laura Linney. She reads very well, a bit fast, but all in all, I can see why she was hired. Last night the attire was Lucky Jeans, a too tight white blouse, my luxury Peter Millar cashmere sweater and a pocket full of tootsie roll wrappers, bobby pins, and ponytail holders. The only bad thing about this habit is that I am not really consistent with my dental care. I need to do that before putting them to bed. The beautiful thing about it is that I get a good, long night's sleep, and amazingly, as a pull my bra off in the morning that I just slept in, I feel pretty rested.

Today, I just didn't feel like busting hump. I took the divas to school (after trying to pick Diva 2's nose -- she has a terrible case of raw nose with tons of stuff stuck up there -- I hope the teachers don't ask her to throw her head back and laugh) and my hair was just gross. So I came home, laid in bed for 30 minutes and listened to the TODAY show, had a toasted sesame bagel with pumpkin butter and a hot cup of coffee, then I straightened my hair. It's really straight 'cuz I didn't have to hurry. AND, I was at work at 9:11 am.

Now, that was lazy. And, it was pleasurable. Today, that's ok by me.

Grease Fire II

Well, the grease fire has reached it's full potential...read to find out.

After our bake element was shot I went on-line to GE and ordered a new bake element for $100. Of course the little pin which supported the element was attached, so I had no choice. The nice lady at GE assured me that even an idiot could install it. Just make sure to turn off the circuit breakers.

It arrived, and husband couldn't wait to install it. Did he read the directions? No. Did he call me at work to walk him through the installation? No. He just tried to install it. Lo and behold, as he took out the old element and tried to plug in the new one, a huge spark spewed out the back of the oven and sent a scintillating jolt through his body. Oops...he didn't turn off the circuit breaker.

The plug for the bake element had a big black ring around it. Smoke eeked out. It was dead.

So now what? I called the appliance repair place. $200 to come out and fix it. Plus $100 dollars for the element. That's $300. I know it's not the most environmentally sensitive solution, but it sounded like a new oven to me.

And so it is. And it's alot nicer. (Although picking it out wasn't so great -- I did find out at the appliance store that both kids can fit in a dryer at the same time). Best of all, mother in law paid for it because she can't have her son electrocuted, after all.

The lesson is this: a grease fire is not always a bad thing.

Thongs

What is it about thongs? Who invented these and what were they thinking? Nothing like a piece of string dividing your butt cheeks and digging into your nether regions.

I have a pair of Victoria's Secret "Pink" thongs that are cute, but they hurt me so badly that I am sore 3 or 4 days after wearing them. All thongs cause a different degree of discomfort, but I can never remember that these are the worst and I continue to wear them over and over. After I throw them in the hamper, the exact memory of the pain they cause me is instantly transferred to my butt and I just forget. It's kind of like having a baby. It really hurts, but yet women do it time and again.

Hmmm, must be a law of nature or something.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME! Part II

So the rest of the day wasn't any better than the first part of the day.

I worked somewhat in sweats all day, no shower, no massage, no one to bring me lunch. I got so hungry but I decided to not eat because of the great dinner my husband planned for me.

Bipolar Sis in law 2 said she would babysit with the help of Sis in Law 1, but Sis in Law 1 had to go to yoga so she would come over later. Sis in law 2 arrives. Asks where the ice cream is, ate half of the container, then laid down in the Zero Gravity recliner, covered herself with a blanket and went to sleep.

Wait! I thought she was babysitting?

Kids are fighting, punching, kicking and yelling. Husband comes home a bit early (20 minutes) because it's my birthday. HE goes and takes a shower. I referee. Sis in law sleeps. After Husband's shower, he retreats to the bathroom for a 30 minute sojurn with reading material. I am still referee-ing. After he comes out, I notice that he has dressed up. He is wearing a polo, rumpled shorts, his jolly roger belt, and flip flops. Guess we're not going anywhere fancy.

At this point, I showered. Put on my nice jeans, a new shirt, dangly earrings, and did my make-up, hair, etc. I want to look nice on my own birthday.

"Where are we going?" Husband asks. HUH? I am planning this?

I guess so. I decide on a restaurant on John's Island, about 30 minutes away. Heard it was good.

Sis in Law 2 is still sleeping so I call Sis in Law 1 and tell her to come over because no one is going to watch these kids. We wait til she finishes yoga, goes home to shower, and comes over.

I open my gifts. A painting, a watch (I love both), and a vintage cookie tin. Also, a recycled teddy bear and a note from the girls.

We leave and drive to the restaurant. Husband skulks behind while I go in an get a table. It was a table in the middle of the restaurant where I got the waiter's butt in my plate while he is taking an order from the table next to us. The table wobbles. I have to hold my foot on the bottom to keep it steady all night. Food was good. Bill comes, I pay.

We go home. Husband is "bloated." He goes back into the bathroom for an extended time.

I get in bed and read my book "Bitter Harvest" about a wife who poisons her husband and burns down her house. I go to sleep before husband comes to bed.

It's over. Can't wait 'til next year!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME! Part I

This year it's gonna be a real throw down.

All the family is out of town enjoying the labor day holiday. I am stuck here, in town, working on Diva 1's science project. Here are all the great ways I am celebrating the day before my birthday and the actual birthday day itself (birthdays get dragged out around our house, that is, everyone's except mine).

Day before birthday:

1. Was called a "sour bitch" before noon because husband was still in bed at 11:00 am and I said "when are you getting up, lazybones?"

2. We had a power outage for 5 hours in the morning because of a storm. Husband says"I am so used to utilities being turned off around here, it probably did get cut off". He makes me get up and call the power company.

3. I did 5 loads of laundry, and ironed at least 10 shirts and pants.

4. I made everyone breakfast: scrambled eggs, bacon, grits, coffee and juice.

5. Helped Diva 1's with her science project, "My Summer" essay, reading log, and spelling.

6. Planted a tea olive tree in the back yard.

7. Got into the vodka at 4:45 pm.

8. No one planned dinner, so husband grilled hot dogs (at least they were kosher and we had dijon mustard). Sis in Law 1 and 2 come over. Sis in Law 2 is bipolar and she didn't eat because she is fasting and praying to release the devil that lives on her back. So she just watched.

9. Diva 1 gets a fever.

10. Both Diva 1 & 2 come downstairs at 2:22 am and can't sleep. I go upstairs with them and sleep with both of them in a 7/8 bed (a bit bigger than a single, but smaller than a double.)

Birthday Day

1. Diva 1 still has a fever so she stays home, which means I have to stay home.

2. Diva 2 cries all the way to school because she is scared to walk in by herself.

3. Dog throws up in the living room and Diva 1 steps in it.

4. I am working on my 3rd load of laundry and trying to work at my business which supports this whole family.

4. The Happy Birthdays wishes I've gotten so far today are from the guy I bought some life insurance from and the car dealer where I got my car (pre-recorded).

Diva 1 is home and digging into everything and it's only 12:45 pm. I am sure the rest of the day will bring some other interesting stuff which I will post in Part II.

Grease Fire

Never mind that I made a delicious Sunday dinner of baby back ribs, home made macaroni and cheese, fresh salad with Amish blue cheese crumbles, and a delightful syrah. Never mind that I was feeling accommodating and invited sister-in-law over. And never mind that he had a wonderful baby back rib lunch for two days.

All that matters is when I preheated the oven several nights later, there were some drippings from the ribs in the bottom of the oven that caught on fire. Yes, it did smoke up the kitchen and set the smoke detector off (which was easily turned off with a little fanning), and yes, it burned a little piece of the oven bake element off (which I am replacing through a call to GE).

For all of that I am a "dumbass" that "doesn't think", and am incapable of "doing anything right." Sorry, but my OCD tendencies aren't as finely honed as his. If all I had to do was go to work, I am sure I'd be much more tuned in.

Why can't I control my life?

I haven't posted in awhile. Now I understand about blogs that don't get updated. I'm chalking mine up to pure chaos.

Divas started school the other day. One in kindergarten, the other in third grade. Third grade diva just transferred to a new school so she could be with her sister. She is a bit unhappy because it's only been two days and she is already being picked on for being small. Three boys got to her yesterday. As she described it, one was tall and skinny, one was fat, and the other had bulging out eyeballs. The fat one's name is Kirk. She retaliated by calling him "Kirkland." I thought that was amusing...my little Costco brand conscious diva. I told her to call him "Kirkland toilet paper."
That's not helping, I know.

Aside from having to have my kids to school at 7:30 am and being so tired that my eyeballs feel like they are made from sandpaper, in the past two weeks I have :
1) bounced TEN (10) checks
2) just gotten my water cut off for a bill that was 1 day late

Those are the worst things. A few others that contribute to my spiral are:
toenails that are too long, hair that desperately needs a highlight, a purse that is part trash can and part coupon/receipt holder, clothes that have been wet in the washer for two days, the towel rack in the upstairs bathroom that is still on the back of the toilet after being yanked out of the wall by Diva 2 in her attempt to get a fashion accessory (i.e. band-aid) out of the bathroom cabinet, a gaping hole in the wall of the laundry room from the door being flung open too many times, a screen door with no screen, eight piles of laundry that needs to be done...you get the picture.

If I could just get over my punch drunk hangover from being so tired I might make some headway in some of these areas.

And if I could only make some money...that would help.

The Queen Strikes again

You'd think I'd learn. It keeps happening over and over again and I just keep taking it and taking it.

Queen was out of town for a week and it was so deliciously quiet. Then she comes back, just in time for girls night out (why did I include her in this group of my friends?). To begin with, husband, on his day off, forgets to get the kids. Of course, I am blamed for this because I neglected to tell him what time to get the kids. God forbid that he can pick up a phone and call me. I guess he was too busy sleeping on his day off. That got us off to a late start. Then it all began. Queen tells me I need to do a better job communicating with my husband. That's after driving the divas all over God's green earth, getting food, fixing food, washing clothes, referring fights, paying bills, trying to work at my job, etc. etc. Oh, and husband does not have a cell phone, nor does he answer the phone at home. So the communication thing gets a bit challenging.

Then we are out with the girls and everytime I say something she makes a goofy face and imitates me. And on the way home, she criticizes Hilda's driving and the route that she choose to take. And she just keeps hammering and hammering on it.

I just can't stand it. I get home (of course divas are still up) and she calls and accuses me of being antogonistic. I accuse her of being mean and bossy. We hang up on each other. And don't talk for two weeks.

It's over, and she's back in the fold, but at arms length. And there she will stay. I've learned my lesson for the hundredth time.

All Quiet on The Home Front

Wow. It's been really quiet around the house. Divas are at the grandparents for a week and I don't know what to do with myself except for drink vodka and sleep.

The cleaning lady came yesterday and did a halfway job, but at least their are no little fingers to mess it all up. No papers lying about, beds are made, toys are in baskets. Amazing. For the last day and a half, I just sit and look, and listen to the silence of my former life (w/o kids).

Of course, husband wants sex so I give in so the week can be pleasant, and then he gets a raging stomach ache. I knew he was going to try to blame it on my cooking, but I feel fine so it has to be all the beers he drank or something else (grumpy disposition?).

I sat outside this morning, listened to the birds and the traffic on the boulevard, and felt thankful. I am thankful for my two beautiful divas who are two hours away, and for the little slice of quiet I am going to enjoy this week.

I am going to sleep, but I will hold off on the vodka drinking 'til at least tomorrow when I am going to the (oh my God!) MOVIES!!!!

The empty roll

Why? What is the law of nature that governs the emptiness of the toilet paper roll every single time I go to the bathroom in my house? It doesn't matter if it's the upstairs bathroom, the hall bathroom or my bathroom...they are always empty or just have a square or two on them. There has to be a Murphy's Law type thing that relates to this phenomenon.

If anyone knows, please tell me.

Who is this woman?

I ask myself this all the time now when I see myself in the mirror. I don't know this person. She looks different. Older. Maybe wiser, but am not so sure. I still feel so immature inside, but look haggard on the outside.

When I see myself in pictures I don't recognize myself either.

If I were to describe myself to someone from seeing myself in a photo, this is the image of think of.

Migrant Mother. Dorthea Lange. 

Are birthdays a week long? And how many dance recitals can a person bear?

Apparently in our house they are.

We kicked off the weekend with Diva Two's "family" birthday. But no family came...except Auntie, but not 'til 8:30 (that's ok, we took the high road and didn't even mention it). By that time, half of a big size bottle of pinot grigio had been enjoyed by me and Hilda so all was ok. Dinner was good, capped off with ice cream sundaes for dessert. Very yummy.

Next day was the big rush for the "friend" party at the big museum. I busted hump all morning bathing, cleaning, gathering, etc. etc. for the safari gig. Turned out well, Husband didn't come because work was too important but Mom-in-law did. I had to carry 3 12-packs of soda, 2 bags of snacks, decorations, gifts into the museum by myself. Divas can't carry too much, they might mess themselves up. Sweaty and ready, the party began. B.P. (Bi-Polar Sis-in-law) ventured over. She was going to help but she disappeared into the museum only to be found at cake time -- of which she ate lots and lots. Man, lots happened in 1-1/2 hour. It's already a blur. We safari-ed, looked at taxidermied animals, ate PBJ's and puffy cheetos, and cake. Of course I didn't bring a knife, thinking that a place that has birthday parties every weekend would have one (silly me), so I ended up having to cut my $70 fondant cake with a tiny plastic one. That was interesting. I still have chocolate jammed under my fingernails.

Then home, to regroup, and book on out to Diva Two's dance rehearsal. Diva Two pulled a good haul, over 20 presents. We got sidetracked and started opening in between. We only meant to open 3 or so, but then we did the whole she-bang, which left the living room looking like a cyclone of tissue paper and left us only 20 minutes to get ready and get out to the auditorium.

Who invented tights? Any why are they so hard to put on? Why when you put them on with the tag at the back do the toes get twisted around? And why do all kids hate that little seam at the toes? That is pure agony.

Somehow, we got it together and got out there. It was a 30 minute drive. Dance instructor rambled on an on into the microphone about how exhausted she was, etc. etc. We rehearsed. The one question that kept going through my mind is that why is this called a dance recital? Really, it is more like dressing your kids up in ridiculous, overpriced costumes, standing them in a line, and letting them do what they want. I don't know why I keep paying for this. But I do. Must be some kind of grown-up peer pressure.

On the way home, I was so sleepy that on two occasions, I swerved into another lane. Nap alert!
And I took one from 5:30 to 8:30. Good thing the house didn't burn down or something.

Then, on to the recital. Great home movie that we can all giggle at later.

Monday comes, another dance rehearsal. This time, I had to get Diva One's hair in a bun. She has short hair. It was hard. I had to use those hair nets they use in the deli department at the grocery store. And about 40 hairpins and half a can of hair spray. This was after picking her up from her karate belt test with 20 minutes to get to the dance rehearsal. We made it and she rehearsed, but she was the one called out at the end for sloppy arms and turning the wrong way (she's a lefty so she turns the other way than all the righties. She also can write her name backwards like no one's business).

Tuesday, Diva Two's recital. Actually it was pretty cute. This time we used 60 hairpins and two hairnets. Did not get flowers and got yelled at for that. Instead I gave her queso dip at the mexican restaurant down the street from the dance studio. Seemed like a fair trade to me.

Only one more diva birthday down the pike. Hope I make it!

Queen of the Better Offer

Maybe I am overreacting.

I don't even know what to say about this one.

Today is Diva Two's Birthday. Tried to figure out all week what to do for the actual "day," we're having a big kiddie party tomorrow but always like to do a family thing on the "day." And, like a lot of people all of a sudden, we're on a budget. This economy, and all my slow pay clients have forced us to stretch a bit and keep the ol' wallet closed as much as we can. So, we're not going out and having dinner, drinking cheap chianti, and spending a bunch of money.

Sis-in-law offered to have a birthday cookout at her house for Diva Two. "That might work," I thought. So we went with the idea. Then it changed to having it at our house. It's just easier to do it right there so I don't have to carry a bunch of stuff over to her house. Plus, she never has ketchup or mustard or anything for the hamburgers. And if she does, it's expired.

So the cookout is all planned for this evening, just me and hubby, Diva One and Two, Hilda and her son, and Sis-in-law. I found out this morning that other Sis-in-law isn't coming -- she's bi-polar and can't handle it (Of course she didn't call me, Mother-in-Law had to tell me). That's ok, I was nervous about that anyway. A small family gathering...which is good, because when a few more family members are added with a bit of wine, it gets out of control (more about that later).

Here's the kicker, Sis-in-Law One, the one who offered to do this WHOLE THING AT HER HOUSE in the first place, the one who bothered me ALL WEEK about what we were going to do, called me and told me she was going out for drinks after work and wouldn't be over til 8 or 9 pm.

8 OR 9 PM?????????? FOR A 5 YEAR OLD "FAMILY" BIRTHDAY PARTY. HER NIECE?????
What the.....????????????????

Hmmm, apparently she got a better offer.

I am so mad and of course when she told me I was caught off guard and didn't respond correctly. Now I am thinking, "LISTEN, you &^$#(& ! Are you kidding me? This was your idea from the get-go! You were helping me plan this and get it together?! Now you're going out for drinks and you're gonna show up late, eat food, drink, boss everyone around and leave.

And basically, this happens once a week when she doesn't have dinner and comes over, lets herself in our house with the key she has, and sees what we're having for dinner and then conveniently asks to stay. (What if I was cooking naked?)

Now, I know I have some boundary issues. I should just cut it off from the beginning. I need to take that key away, tell her what's what, and be done with it. But, being the little bulldog that she is, she would get all up in my face. Me, being the non-confrontational person that I am, I try to avoid that. Seriously though, I need to figure out some behavior modification because this ticks me off every time and yet it happens over and over.

Maybe I can read this later and realize how stupid it is, and quit letting it happen.

Once more, Happy Birthday Diva Two!!

Try, try again

So I tried to bring up the Mother's Day thing again last night.

And it went nowhere. The Mother's Day thing was just a blip on the bigger radar screen. Really what I want is a participating member of our household.

Again, it all goes back to me.

1. I should be grateful because he does lots more around the house than most husbands. I should check with my friends and compare notes.

2. I am the reason he works all the time, to try and pay for everything that I did to put him in debt (like have children).

3. I am such an unreasonable person because I asked that he come to Diva Two's birthday party, AND her dance recital.

4. I am a freak because it doesn't bother me that Barack Obama doesn't wear a flag pin.

I guess I should really think about these things.

Ok, I'm done. And I went out last nigth to have some wine with a friend and dish about all the ridulous-ness in the world. We talked about Eleanor Roosevelt, sausages, and some guy that wasn't mentally all there bought us a round of drinks. We thought it might be the two cute French guys next to use who sent a Peroni cap flying into my lap. But, no such luck.

Came home and slept with the Divas. Took off my clothes this time though.

Anyway today, seems kind of silly and stupid through the hangover haze. Oh, and I guess since I slept with the Divas, he didn't feel like he had to flush the toilet last night and left me a gagger this morning. Yuk.

On the edge of Mother's Day

This one really did me in. I mean, it's been bad before, but this one took the cake. I know from experience not to really expect much, but a cup of coffee or kind word would really make the day.

Here's how it went.

I fell asleep with Diva Two the night before, fully clothed (I do this alot because I am (a) exhausted from doing my day and (b) I don't want to listen to the screaming and crying about the "darkness" when I leave the room and (c) my kids are gonna be big one day and won't want me near them so I am trying to cram it all in now). I go downstairs and get in bed with hubby and Peanut (the dog) to try to watch CBS Sunday Morning -- the one TV indulgence I ask for all week -- please, please, please let me watch this show that gives me an informed, peaceful feeling.

What would make the experience perfect was a cup of coffee. In bed. On Mother's Day. I waited. And waited. Then I waited some more. Soon, Charles Osgood was leaving me in some quiet forest with birds, but no coffee. Hubby was still lying there. It was 10:30 and no sign of movement. So I got up and headed to the kitchen to my my own %$#@ing coffee. "Where are you going?" he asks. "To make some coffee," I reply. Suddenly, the covers fly off and he storms outta bed. "I WILL GET YOUR *&^^%$# COFFEE! DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT!" Not really a nice way to talk to the mother of your children first thing in the morning on MOTHER'S DAY.

Now, I know he can be a bit, well...grumpy and usually if I let it go it will blow over. So I get back in bed and he brings me my coffee and gets back in bed. The doorbell rings, it's Diva One back from a sleepover. She's ready to make Mommy breakfast in bed. Hubby doesn't stir. So she goes into the kitchen and starts clanking pots around. Hubby gets up and mutters his way into the kitchen. I get a Lender's Mini Bagel with peanut butter. Not quite the eggs and bacon I was hoping for, but hey, at least it's something.

Then I shower, come into the kitchen and begin making a homemade cake sister's birthday dinner that night. Hubby showers and lies back down on the couch to grab some more TV. Oh, that was after he told me I was wasting time and I should just go buy one at the grocery store. So senitmental!

Hubby was putting away his undies and I went in the bedroom and said that his being grumpy and nasty to me on Mother's Day says to me that he really doesn't give a rip about me. He called me "hypersensitive" and told me to get out of the room. Gladly, I obliged.

Therein, the tone of the day was set.

I cooked all day, did wash, packed bookbags, wrapped presents and tended to kids. I didn't see the outside world all day. I was like a shriveled up toadstool, shrinking from the sun when I went out.

Birthday dinner was good, but I had to get quiet. I drank a lot of wine, listened to stories from old people and didn't say a word on the way home. Doesn't even phase him. It's not like I am trying to get him to "read my mind" or anything but it's just not even worth bringing up.

I'll try again another day.