"Mmm, I love the smell of sheets and cat fur" Baby announces while taking in a deep inhale of Big Boy.
"Sheets and cat fur?" Mrs F asks, confused.
"They smell the same?" Mrs F inquires a little nervously.
"Yeah!" Baby responds enthusiastically
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Friday, May 4, 2012
Still Alive (because after that last one you deserve an update)
Here's the main deal...
Girl Scout camp (which I likened to Guantanamo more than once during my imprisonment) sucked the last living bit of soul I had left right out of me.
Something about the not sleeping for 56 straight hours (wish I was exaggerating) shoved my already fragile state right over the live long edge.
I may or may not have contemplated taking my own life (I'd tell you not to judge me on that, cause I know it sounds crazy-town, but remember that humans are really not constructed to stay awake for 3 days... it will fuck you all kinds of up in the head)
Especially, when you come home and it's Monday and the construction crew shows up and they finish your roof with an extremely NOT straight line.
And when you call the Village to ask where your replacement street tree was, since we were the only house NOT to get one (that they promised to everyone that lost one in the tornado then wrote a whole bunch of self congratulatory statements about how they had done that) I was told that I did get one. And when I said that they planted it NEXT FUCKING DOOR (minus the fucking... because I'm actually the nicest person in the world to deal with... also not exaggerating... you can make me cry but you cannot ever push me to rudeness... FACT) and not in fact at my house, I got some attitude on the other end of the line.
And, people, PEOPLE... it was just too much.
Plus, Baby is 5 and her first dance recital is being taken as seriously as opening night on Broadway for crying out loud. And you can't take pictures or video, but have to buy them for $30/each (assholes). And (AND) there are 3 days of f'ing rehearsals.
And I need to find something called "Suntan" tights... and when I asked what time the recital was and the teacher talked to me like I had Alzheimer's and had told me before (hadn't) that the times will be posted the 1st week of May and it wasn't actually the 1st week yet in a sickeningly sweet tone... well... I just shut down.
I went home, looked at the spot where my tree wasn't... and completely shut down.
Then, of course, I made dinner.
And then I started crying on the inside.
Oh, wait I was going to write about how I'm feeling a bit better. Oops.
So, miraculously, Mr F was convinced to stay home. And while I did have to wake him up twice (meaning I did not actually get to sleep in) he did make the kids breakfast and take Baby to swimming (a procedure I kind of dread) and then he took them to Spanish and got them McDonald's for lunch. Sure I still had to do the homeschooling, and he may have completely forgotten to bring me any lunch home (?!!) but it was still so much less than I usually do that it did help restore a bit of my inner strength. Which clearly needed some serious restoration work. I also ordered a week's worth of dinners from one of those make & take dinner places (but it turns out you don't have to make them), and talked myself down from my usual standards and into buying some packaged ready to eat food from the grocery store (ground breaking... I know).
I also found out about this show I can watch on YouTube.
And this blog. And her honesty about her own hard times makes me feel a little less alone in mine.
And between the two I almost (almost) don't miss TV as much.
Although I still do miss bashing the Pioneer Woman during her cooking show on Saturday mornings.
I don't know why, but it brings Mr F & I closer together.
Mostly because I just don't think you can call yourself an accidental country girl when you married one of the largest land owners in America and you met him at a bar in Oklahoma where you are, incidentally, from. You know? It just rubs us the wrong way. Just say you are a rich cattle rancher's wife with a state of the art kitchen and I'm all in... just don't lie to me.
Don't you lie to me, Ree.
Whoa, that show gets me riled up! I don't even know where it comes from. It just bubbles up.
I think that's why Mr F likes to watch it with me. It brings out the fury he knows and loves.
So does the village tree lady.
But with her it's personal, so it's not nearly as much fun.
P.S. if you CC the tree lady's boss & you explain how not getting the tree you ORDERED planted on your property, when you are already so stressed and beaten down from the tornado and all the repairs and you just want to move forward, is extremely disappointing, you will get a prompt response and a tree by the end of the week. Just sayin'... do not mess with me, village tree lady... Do. Not. Mess.
Girl Scout camp (which I likened to Guantanamo more than once during my imprisonment) sucked the last living bit of soul I had left right out of me.
Something about the not sleeping for 56 straight hours (wish I was exaggerating) shoved my already fragile state right over the live long edge.
I may or may not have contemplated taking my own life (I'd tell you not to judge me on that, cause I know it sounds crazy-town, but remember that humans are really not constructed to stay awake for 3 days... it will fuck you all kinds of up in the head)
Especially, when you come home and it's Monday and the construction crew shows up and they finish your roof with an extremely NOT straight line.
And when you call the Village to ask where your replacement street tree was, since we were the only house NOT to get one (that they promised to everyone that lost one in the tornado then wrote a whole bunch of self congratulatory statements about how they had done that) I was told that I did get one. And when I said that they planted it NEXT FUCKING DOOR (minus the fucking... because I'm actually the nicest person in the world to deal with... also not exaggerating... you can make me cry but you cannot ever push me to rudeness... FACT) and not in fact at my house, I got some attitude on the other end of the line.
And, people, PEOPLE... it was just too much.
Plus, Baby is 5 and her first dance recital is being taken as seriously as opening night on Broadway for crying out loud. And you can't take pictures or video, but have to buy them for $30/each (assholes). And (AND) there are 3 days of f'ing rehearsals.
And I need to find something called "Suntan" tights... and when I asked what time the recital was and the teacher talked to me like I had Alzheimer's and had told me before (hadn't) that the times will be posted the 1st week of May and it wasn't actually the 1st week yet in a sickeningly sweet tone... well... I just shut down.
I went home, looked at the spot where my tree wasn't... and completely shut down.
Then, of course, I made dinner.
And then I started crying on the inside.
Oh, wait I was going to write about how I'm feeling a bit better. Oops.
So, miraculously, Mr F was convinced to stay home. And while I did have to wake him up twice (meaning I did not actually get to sleep in) he did make the kids breakfast and take Baby to swimming (a procedure I kind of dread) and then he took them to Spanish and got them McDonald's for lunch. Sure I still had to do the homeschooling, and he may have completely forgotten to bring me any lunch home (?!!) but it was still so much less than I usually do that it did help restore a bit of my inner strength. Which clearly needed some serious restoration work. I also ordered a week's worth of dinners from one of those make & take dinner places (but it turns out you don't have to make them), and talked myself down from my usual standards and into buying some packaged ready to eat food from the grocery store (ground breaking... I know).
I also found out about this show I can watch on YouTube.
And this blog. And her honesty about her own hard times makes me feel a little less alone in mine.
And between the two I almost (almost) don't miss TV as much.
Although I still do miss bashing the Pioneer Woman during her cooking show on Saturday mornings.
I don't know why, but it brings Mr F & I closer together.
Mostly because I just don't think you can call yourself an accidental country girl when you married one of the largest land owners in America and you met him at a bar in Oklahoma where you are, incidentally, from. You know? It just rubs us the wrong way. Just say you are a rich cattle rancher's wife with a state of the art kitchen and I'm all in... just don't lie to me.
Don't you lie to me, Ree.
Whoa, that show gets me riled up! I don't even know where it comes from. It just bubbles up.
I think that's why Mr F likes to watch it with me. It brings out the fury he knows and loves.
So does the village tree lady.
But with her it's personal, so it's not nearly as much fun.
P.S. if you CC the tree lady's boss & you explain how not getting the tree you ORDERED planted on your property, when you are already so stressed and beaten down from the tornado and all the repairs and you just want to move forward, is extremely disappointing, you will get a prompt response and a tree by the end of the week. Just sayin'... do not mess with me, village tree lady... Do. Not. Mess.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Mr F Stayed Home Today And That Is Saying Something
It could have to do with finding me keening on the bedroom floor
I'm not doing well, and I'm not in the space to even pretend that I am
the tornado, and the construction, and the insurance fights, and the contractor mishaps, which all result in a needed hypervigilance that I no longer have the energy for
and Mr F left on a business trip to San Francisco, followed directly by his being gone all the following week for 'closing week', then without a breath in between I was sent to girl scout prison camp, and now Mr F is preparing to leave for France...
all tidying up one of the worst months of my life
and I'm still having to do all the stuff, the homeschooling, and cooking, and laundry, and grocery shopping, and bill paying, and construction management
and worrying about the workmanship and the money
and how much I just want to go back in time have this never have happened
and I just don't have anything left inside
when things go bad I'm always left alone
it feels like the most horrifically long fight to the death
and it turns out they're winning
and I'm dying
to top it all off I had the roofers throw away our DirecTV satellite... and now all I want in the world is to lie on the coach cloaked in a blanket and watching mindless TV
and there is that part of me that always appears competent and on top of things
and so no one sees, not even Mr F
that, really, I need the help
I'm not doing well, and I'm not in the space to even pretend that I am
the tornado, and the construction, and the insurance fights, and the contractor mishaps, which all result in a needed hypervigilance that I no longer have the energy for
and Mr F left on a business trip to San Francisco, followed directly by his being gone all the following week for 'closing week', then without a breath in between I was sent to girl scout prison camp, and now Mr F is preparing to leave for France...
all tidying up one of the worst months of my life
and I'm still having to do all the stuff, the homeschooling, and cooking, and laundry, and grocery shopping, and bill paying, and construction management
and worrying about the workmanship and the money
and how much I just want to go back in time have this never have happened
and I just don't have anything left inside
when things go bad I'm always left alone
it feels like the most horrifically long fight to the death
and it turns out they're winning
and I'm dying
to top it all off I had the roofers throw away our DirecTV satellite... and now all I want in the world is to lie on the coach cloaked in a blanket and watching mindless TV
and there is that part of me that always appears competent and on top of things
and so no one sees, not even Mr F
that, really, I need the help
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