Mornings

This is the first morning in a long while I've had to finish a cup of coffee sitting down. As opposed to the usual chugging while running out the door. My mornings have been crazy hectic and will continue to be for the foreseeable future- but what a difference it makes to be able to sit and think before jumping into the day.

Our family is divided in half; 2 morning people, 2 non morning people. The morning people have left to go to school and work. S and I, the non morning people, are enjoying a few more minutes of a nice slow morning.

Here we go, Wednesday. I'm ready.

My street this week

Pianos that have been left out in the rain. Why?

Two chairs getting it on.

my dumb yellow hair

My hair. As much as I don't care most of the time, every now and then I get obsessed.

I seek solace in the form of hair dye. I was drastic at 18, fire engine red, peroxide blond. Over the years I have gotten less drastic, more sort of natural although I never cared about that. I do the coloring myself not because I am a genius colorist, not at all, but because I can't sit still for the 3 hours it takes to have my hair colored anywhere but home. That and I hate to pay a lot for my hair. BUT this last escapade has me almost surrendered.

Yesterday, after dropping H of at school, at 8 am, not the best time to ponder ones hair color, I went into the drugstore and came out with something called bleach blond the lightest you can go good luck with that or something along those lines. After submitting my hair to the abuse of this product, I saw it starting to turn yellow. Like a gold finch. It is the classic bad dye job, and the worst in all my many years of messing around with hair color.

I panicked, called my sister. I thought about not taking S to her gymnastics class. Then I posted my picture on facebook and said to hell with it. I am going to own this bad dye job.

After parading about town with my yellow head and receiving some compliments and some eye aversions- I became obsessed with getting this yellow, this brassiness, out of my hair. To stop looking like Johnny Rotten.

I consulted my sister, the most professional un professional colorist I know. She told me what to get. I couldn't find it at the drugstore and there are no reasonable beauty supply stores close enough to me- so I went to the fancy expensive salon attached one that is close. I checked their website, they had my coveted product, it was reasonably priced.

When I got there, dragging along S, in the rain, the self important guy who worked there (and who was bald. What does he know from hair?) sold me on their version of what I was looking for. I didn't ask how much it was- but quickly learned it was more than I would have paid had I been in my right mind and not my obsessed mind.

The moral of this story- if I had just gone to get my hair done at a salon, it would have taken less time AND less money. And it would probably look better too.

But it's all about the journey, right?

And now on to more important things.

Must...keep...up...

This blog isn't the only thing suffering from my manic distraction of late.

I am trying to do too much. Its gotten to the point where the things I am doing half assed are looking good. Because there are way too many things that are getting a 16th of my ass. And that just isn't enough.

Today I forgot to send underwear with H to school for her to change into after water play (she goes to school in her bathing suit.) Her teacher, the good cop teacher, luckily for me, informed me today when I picked her up that H was not wearing any underwear, as I didn't send any AND she doesn't have a change of clothes at school like she's supposed to that I haven't sent in despite many reminders from the good cop teacher and the bad cop teacher.

I feel I don't have shorts to spare! I don't want any cute clothes to languish away in a plastic bag for just incase use, and I don't want to spend money on any ugly clothes to keep at school, so I just keep putting it off like everything else. Maybe when they send her home in a barrel with suspenders, and no underwear beneath- maybe then I'll send a change of clothes. AND H brought underwear downstairs for me to put in her backpack this morning- I didn't even tell her too. And I still forgot. Bad bad distracted Mommy.

And get this one: I hurried and scurried and borrowed from Peter to pay John, Paul, George AND Ringo to make sure I got a payment in on time for the no interest or finance charge credit card we have. Today I saw on the caller ID that the credit card company had called. Thats strange, I thought. Upon further investigation I discovered I had made the payment to the wrong credit card.

I called the credit card company, heard an automated amount I now owe, due to my non payment, over the limit, back charges and general negligence. Managed to not pass out. Got a really nice guy named Ross on the phone. Initially, he had some attitude since I couldn't remember my password. "Its a pet's name" he groaned. "Do you know how many pets I have?!" I yelled at him. He was nice enough to help me reset my password "How about your mothers maiden name, he says.. that doesn't change" Yeah, fine Ross. Think you have it all figured out. I told him I paid the wrong credit card. He thinks they can fix this mess, but I have to call back tomorrow, after they post the payment I made.

And those are just the things I know I've screwed up. There are so many more waiting in the wings. Gotta love a surprise.

Birds and bees

An update: This is my new robin friend. The one that came into my kitchen and pooped.


I'm pretty sure that he flew (or landed and then hopped a few times) into my house on his own accord- not that Maxi brought him in, as I had previously thought. After I took him outside, I saw the nest he must have been in just a few feet from my back door. I had the door proped open, to assist me with everyone who is always trapped on the opposite side of the door they want to be on and yelping. Even though I have been pleaded with by J, and given countless 'told you so' looks after we get bees in the house, to keep the damn door shut to keep out the vermin. My defense of keeping the door open "Whats going to come in? You're crazy" is wearing thin, what with now bees and birds flying in. I heard cheeps and tweets and saw some concerned robin parents hopping about. I saw the robin's siblings spread out around the garden on branches looking shell shocked- it must have been the day they were given the boot.

I am a little concerned about this guy as he was all of 5 inches off the ground. I literally held the camera an inch from his little bird face and he was unfazed. I think he needs to be a little fazed for survival here in the land of hungry cats and bird dogs.

Ouch. Quit it.

You know your tired when.
When you don't have the energy to list all the myriad of tiring things your not doing. But also when you are sitting, like I am right now, looking at blankly my computer screen thinking how chapped my lips are. Thinking I should work on the confounded website. Thinking my lips are chapped. Maybe I should write something interesting on this blog for once, I think. My lips are chapped. Wasn't I about to make dinner? My lips are chapped.
H says "Can we watch another show, since you haven't started dinner yet?"
Right. I said they could watch one show. "Fine, one more" I say.
My lips are chapped.
And I'm tired.

Gourds and goals

I must be feeling better because now my mind is spinning with all the things I want to do in addition to all the things I have to do. S and i just planted pansies. S is a very neat, everything in its place kind of kid. She was very upset at first about taking the pansies out of their six packs, and spent some time trying to put them back in. After she recovered from the horror of getting her hands dirty while trying to put things back where they GO which seems to be her mission in life right now, I managed to convince her flowers go in the dirt. She was skeptical, but gave in.

My mother taught me well, when you are overwhelmed by things that need attending, go out and garden. While not the most productive teaching, in terms of accomplishing things that need to get done, it sure does wonders for the mood. Which for me is half the battle.

The gardening can backfire. Last spring, I noticed a bunch of things sprouting from wherst I had laid the compost. I was curious and let the sprouts develop to plants. They got bigger, flowered, fruited, and then I wondered how many I could grow. This competitive streak can backfire, too. I grew gourds last year, is what ended up happening. Many gourds. Because I could. Becasue they just happened. After a pretty cool fall display, giving away gourds to anyone who would take them, and experimenting with the gourd drying process, I now have 20 dried gourds taking up space in my universe, ready to become bird houses like their mother, or whatever else it is gourds want to be when they grow up.

J asked the other day, "is it time to throw the gourds away yet?"
"Throw them AWAY?!"
"Well, what are you going to do with them all?"
"I don't KNOW. I have PLANS..." (don'taskdon'task...)
He dropped the subject. He knows me. He loves me. Maybe he'll get a gourd hat.

Yeah, I don't really have a gourd plan. The gourd plan is not as important as say, for example, the tax plan. Our taxes were just delivered via mail man bearing dog treats. I heard somewhere if you are overwhelmed, it helps to break up what overwhelms you into smaller steps. Today my goal is to open the envelope the taxes came in. Maybe thats too lofty. Maybe my goal can be to bring the envelope inside. And I've already done that. I reached a goal! See? I can too reach my goals.

Back to the gourds. I thought about painting them, but can't decide if they should be red or blue. I thought about making wind chimes out each of them, and hanging them all together. Might not be a popular choice for the neighbors. I thought about stringing them together and making candle holders out of them. That is probably a fire hazard. Any of these gourd plans take take longer than I have to spend on the gourds. I have already spent longer that I should thinking about the gourds, and now writing abut the gourds.

Weren't gourds currency at one time? Can I use them to pay taxes?

And today

Lets see if I can pull off writing this with out making it into a to do list. Doubtful. I am once again in a state of overwhelmtion. Everything once again needs doing. To add this I have finally signed up for the web service i plan to redo my site with. It is kind of user friendly, I suppose, if you know anything at all about the web, which I do not. All my file preparation "knowledge" is outdated, but also based on preparing files for print. I've been basically taking everything I know and reversing it. The trick here is to remember what I know so that I can reverse it.

I am also just a small tiny little bit sulky because I am missing getting together with a friend who is in town once or twice a year. I am missing getting together with her and the girls because I need to drive J to the doctor to have eye surgery. I feel like a shit head for sulking, because I am not the one who has to have their eyelid flipped over and scraped while conscious. I can't even bear the thought of putting contacts in my eyes. I have been telling him to shrug it off, it will be fine. Hey, maybe you won't notice! But yeah. I can't think about it with out wincing. Which makes my shrugging it off not convincing at all. And my sulking all that much more annoying. I'm only fractionally sulking. I know he'd do the same for me. And probably sulk the same amount if he was missing something fun.

In addition to not understanding web stuff and sulking, I seem to be having some kind of age crisis. Which I refuse to call a mid life crisis. I can't get past the idea of putting aqua streaks into my hair. This has been 3 weeks now? I thought it would pass. No. I still want the aqua streaks. I am so not 15. But I want them anyway.

Pancakes

I HATE PANCAKES. I love to eat pancakes, but I really hate making pancakes. I am a decent cook, I like to cook- but for the life of me I can not make a decent pancake. They are usually burnt on the outside, raw on the inside. I always smoke up the whole house which caused major alarm this time, with fire safety week so newly behind us.

My mother in law gave me pancake molds. She made pancakes using them, the girls liked them. Hearts. Butterflies.

H really wanted pancakes in the middle of the afternoon. I told her I wasn't going to make pancakes then. "But what ELSE can I have may-kel syrup with?" I told her I'd make them for dinner. Its been that kind of day, where you want to eat breakfast for dinner. Its rainy, gray. Horrific tantrums looped from dawn to dusk.

Anyway- my butterfly and heart pancakes? Not so much. Very Dalí. Surreal pancakes.

H, warily looking at the smoke in the kitchen:
"Mom? I smell gas.."
"No. No you don't. You smell smoke."
"Why is there so much smoke?"
"Because that's how I make pancakes"
"Does it smoke when Aunt K makes pancakes?"
(WHAT? My sister is many things, but in our family we like to harass her for not cooking. She should appreciate H busting her out of that family stereotype. Which I did not perpetuate, Aunt K. You will appreciate.)

Then H asks why the shapes didn't work when I made the pancakes. They worked when Dado made the pancakes... Yes, yes, I know. I had to level with her. Here's the thing, H. I'm not very good at making pancakes for some reason. I need to keep practicing. Here, this one sort of looks like a butterfly.

She tastes it. "Mom, these are so delicious, it doesn't matter if they don't have shapes. You should try one they're very good!" She's so good to me, sometimes.

They were pretty good. Flat, a bit spongy, but not raw or burnt. Progress.

True confessions

I'm having Tastykakes and Dr Pepper for lunch.

I expect them to fortify me through the afternoon.

I know they won't.

Sprung

There are many harbingers of spring. Yeah yeah, the robins, the crocus. For me the real sign of spring is finally getting out to the garden. First the marathon cleaning up of dog poop. Then the tackling of dried plants from last year that should have been removed during the fall clean up that never happened. I will inevitably decide I have to prune the roses NOW BEFORE ITS TOO LATE and get into that bubble where I just go for it, get scratched by evil rose thorns through my gloves while working fast to try and make sure neither the girls or the dogs need my attention or try to get through the rose barrier while I am stuffing thorny rose canes into a trash can and wondering why I never tipped the trash men over the holidays.

I usually need to reposition something big and hard to move. Today it was an arbor, which wasn't heavy, but big, sunk in the ground, and tethered down with dead vines. It also had a large rose climbing through it, which is what brought on the pruning. H is getting over a cold, her ears are stuffed up and she can't hear which is making things interesting. She yells everything for one thing.

H: "Whats THAT?"
me: "An arbor"
H: "CARDBOARD?
me "AN ARBOR"
H: "WHATS AN AR DOOR?"

This went on, loudly, forever. I don't know if H knows what an arbor is or not. I tried, and ended up with "An arbor is this big thing! This big thing is an arbor! Things grow on it!" She asked if the ar door made things curly, it had last years dried up tendrils from something on it. I had to stop there.

The girls watched me warily, knowing to stand back a bit. I can see them finding words for this when they get a little older. Oh great, there goes mom into the garden again. Today we worked on H's garden. Which is to be known from here on out as H and S's garden, as H shocked me yet again with her generosity toward her sister and volunteered to share her prized garden with S as S didn't have one yet. We planted seeds for peas, H mixed up a bunch of different varieties- I have no idea what we'll end up with. Seeds for salad greens, bok choy and brussel sprout plants. And pansies.

I said to H, as she was pulling plants out of their plastic pots, "be careful with the roots"
"WHAT?"
I repeated it.
"THE RULES? WHAT ARE THE RULES?"
"No, the ROOTS"
"Oh. BUT WHAT ARE THE GARDEN RULES?"
"There aren't any."
"WHAT?!"

It was great to be out digging in the dirt.

Doctors and plumbers

I'm keeping H home from school today. I have to stand up against ever fiber in my being to do things like this- its bad enough that I don't like to admit I'm sick, but now my kids have to never be sick too? I don't think she's all that bad (see?). Now we glide in to my problem with doctors. Not with doctors, but with going to the doctor. I don't think she needs to go to the doctor, because I don't think shes all that sick, all in the house that Jack built.

Growing up we never went to the doctor and never took anything stronger than aspirin for pain or discomfort, and that (one) aspirin was reserved for severe bodily harm. I know that's one of those cycles I should break, but its hard to reprogram myself. In fairness, I do take H to the doctor as often as needed often take myself off the board of those who decide if she should go to the doctor. J one the other hand thinks one should go to the doctor for a hang nail. I like to think we balance each other out. That our extreme doctor philosophies meet in the middle and we go, and take the girls, to the doctor as needed.

Now I'm wondering if plumbers have seeped into my doctor indecision. Our kitchen sink drain pipe has essentially fallen off at the top, and is leaking in the middle. I have screwed it in a few times, but it doesn't take. I know its an easy fix, but I don't really know how to do it. Do I research it, go buy the parts and then tie up the children so they don't crawl under the sink with me? What I really want is for J to do it. Hasn't he read the manual? He is supposed to fix these things. He said, after I said to him "just fix it!" that his time would be better spent doing what he does which pays him, rather than running around trying to figure out what parts he needs to fix the sink. Then he made his point that it would make him much longer to fix it than someone whose job it it to fix pipes. Like a plumber. I know that since I'm the one who doesn't want to call the plumber, that it falls on me to learn how to fix the pipe. I am feeling over extended though, so I may call the plumber. With my tail between my legs.

***
What the hell is a p trap? I'm calling the plumber.

fixing a hole

Once again I am conquering the world with glitter. All that glitters isn't gold, but it doesn't have to be.

We set out to find a new backpack for H, after the dogs tore through hers- and couldn't find one to our liking. Which means one with out princesses, the words 'princess', 'diva' or 'sassy'. We were informed, with attitude, that backpacks are back to school items, and they wouldn't have many until July. So we picked up a patch. I promised to fix the backpack while H was sleeping- this was very risky. I was afraid after receiving my instructions that I should find a white backpack and then paint "purple flowers with a little pink and yellow on the inside with swirlies". We managed to get on the same page and understand that I would not be fabricating an entire backpack, but fixing the original backpack. That I may or may not paint, but that it would look cool. (Why does it have to be cool? H says.)

I felt very Ma, little house on the prairie-ish mending the backpack. I didn't paint on it because I found some rhinestone stickers I had that I hope will stay on. Its shiny, it doesn't have a hole in it, although it does look a little Frankenstein.

Now, and I need this project like a hole in the head, I may search out a white canvas backpack to paint for H for next year. We'll see. I'm already having to beat down the urge to make everyone spring dresses after going into the fabric store for the patch. Must contain the craft. Must not use home ec as a creativity release. Must harness creativity to finish the print I'm working on. Or maybe I should just let go of the damn reins already.

Surprise dressing and torn backpacks

I wonder if I'll be able to write if I am ever sitting still for longer than 3 minutes with out any one on my lap at my sleeve or zipping my zipper up to my chin and someone else (a photographer. Hmm.) demanding an inventory of the color sheets we have. Everything is a prop. I wonder if I'm able to write now.

Today's drama started early, S woke up, I got out of bed to get her and passed H's room where she was up and undressed. She saw me and FREAKED. YOU RUINED THE SURPRISE! She was going to get dressed before coming in to wake me up. S was drenched in pee, so I had to change her. H demanding I don't get S dressed. In our very competitive house, we have races to get dressed, get pajamas on, and so on. When you win you yell BINGO! As per H's rules. S now says BINGO whenever she gets dressed. J had to convince H it would still be a surprise as indeed we are surprised everyday with what she decides to wear.

We came down stairs, finally, to find H's backpack shredded on the floor. In all of yesterdays running around I forgot to unpack H's school bag, which contained the lunch box. The dogs also ate the pasta off a stegosaurus H made at school and was very proud of. The dogs chewed through the back pack, to get the lunch box which they unzipped. If they can unwrap a cheese stick and unzip a lunch box, WHY can't they unzip a backpack?

All of this before coffee.

Also, I now have short hair. My sister rolls her eyes and sighs, "its not short" She of the aforementioned quarter inch hair. Which now really is a quarter inch long. Short. And looks great. But my hair, while is longer than hers, yes, is much shorter than it was. I like it, I think. I have to get used to it.

kazoo

I have been gallivanting with the wild hamsters, and totally neglecting caring for the wheel that is integral to our caged lives. The house has imploded. There is no food, no dinner plan despite the fact that its dinner time. I am floating around in an altered reality and afraid for next week when the girls and I both return to that spinning wheel. I have gone ahead and made an appointment to have my hair cut tomorrow. I have been trying to make this appointment for over a month- maybe it takes complete disarray of schedule and complete onslaught of madness for me to get a hair cut. That and a sister who is willing and excited to get her hair cut too, even though her hair is all of a quarter inch long and she just got it cut. Ok, maybe its a half inch long. I am excited for the hair coaching.

S has been screaming non stop for days, and is lying on the floor screaming right now.
H has been walking around me in circles with a kazoo the whole time I've been writing this.

Tick, tock, tick, tock

Last night we went to a circus at bed time and didn't get home until 9. Today we have grand parents, and a most popular thrilling shriek inducing duo of an aunt and uncle coming to go to a birthday party where there will be more doting family members and a slew of hyped up 4-5 years olds. The party is at 3:45. Who has a party at 3:45? Its a little exact for my tastes, but that's the only time any place in a 50 mile radius had left.

My girls are morning people. They really would go to bed at 5:30. I usually hold them until 7- although there are the days I draw all the blinds and say "hey! bedtime already! How'd that happen?" My point is, this party will be going on until 5:45, and then the packing up and returning home, the opening of gifts and then the wind down from that.

THEN there's the fact that the actual birthday is tomorrow. We're going to Meeting where it is 2 other kids (who are siblings!) birthday- we joked that we're making it a saints day (Lefty, want in?! Its Baboos' birthday, too!) there may or may not be cake there- after that we're headed home for more family gathering, with a few fresh family members- then the family gifts.

AND THEN the following day my sister Katydid and her son A, also known in these parts as supercousin, are coming for a week. That in itself is enough excitement to make time go backwards- but all of this together- I'm afraid we're headed for an expect it when you least expect it excitement melt down blow up. I'm donning my emotion proof vest, my protective eyewear and I have a whole stack of disclaimers at the ready. I suggest all of you who have any future contact with my brood do the same. You've been warned.

Octopus rodeo

I am an octopus up in here. Reaching out to everyone. I'm on a roll. Got a group? I'll join it. Got a job? I'll take it.

I'm having my own daily Stuart Smalley affirmation, I'm good enough, I'm smart enough and doggone it people like me.

OOOOhhhhh but it makes me feel like an idiot.
Mental slap!
You are not an idiot! Rock on!
You are SUCH an idiot.
I'm good enough...
moron
Smart enough...
oh really? you think so?

Ugh- I'm feeling desperate. Feeling hopeful and able at the same time paralysed and useless. How can one person feel all these contrasting things at the same time???

I'm on the verge of transformation, so says me. I always get a little wacky and internally chatty with myself when I'm on the cusp of changing things up.

Deciding. I am deciding. I don't know what I'm deciding, but it will be a good decision.

I am grappling for the reins, polishing up my spurs, prying off my blinders, and groping flailing reaching out with octopus arms.

Stop judging

This is why I'm not going to the Y.

I still feel like crap. I think I'm turning into a mole. Or a vampire. Having major light sensitivity issues.

S feels like crap. I think. And even if she doesn't she has snot coming down her face at an alarming rate.

I just rushed all around the grocery store which took everything I had out of me. Despite my list I forgot to get a lot of stuff. S wouldn't sit in the cart, kept eating my list, and was generally being an anarchist. Then had a dirty diaper which means she will not sit down at all. Which is understandable, but still. Not convenient.

My gym clothes are dirty, I think- I'm not even sure where they are.

I'm hungry. So is S.

I have to ration my energy. I'm going to the flower show with my mom tonight to enjoy fake spring in a box, and we will need to look at every bud on every flower. And discuss. Its a tradition. It requires serious stamina.

I still feel guilty about leaving S to sit in a chair for an whole hour in the child care room at the Y and god damn it I would have pushed through if it weren't for the last one.

You want it WHEN?

Why does everyone want it at the same time? Attention, money, lunch... its been all or nothing around here for so long. I am loosing layers people, I can only be at so many places doing so many things at so many times. I don't mean to sound like a superhero, but like most mothers I know, I have a healthy pride in my ability to multi-task. Its getting to the 'stop the world I want to get off' place, where the tasks I'm multiplying are morphing into one task and making a task sandwich. Growing into multi-task skyscrapers. I am rapidly approaching complete loss of sky.

I just called a credit card company to transfer the balance from a different credit card company- was on hold for 20 minutes. I can conceivably wait that long, but try getting a word in around here after 20 minutes of me not paying full attention to everyone. And H isn't even here! 20 minutes is the limit. I have 2o minute intervals to get anything I need to get done. And thats on a good day.

After 20 minutes of holding and listening to muzak, a very soft spoken woman came on the phone to ask why I wanted to transfer balances and so on. S has figured out how to turn the volume down on all the phones, and I'm not all the way sure I won't disconnect the caller if I turn it up, so I couldn't hear anyway. (Actually, I DO know it won't disconnect the caller, but what if? I can't spare another 20 minutes on hold.) Once off hold, the dogs who were out, wanted to come in, separately of course. That was 2 loud poundings and barkings at the door in the middle of me trying to recite account numbers. Once in they (loudly) ran around and chewing each others heads in excitement that its snowy and cold out. S cried (loudly) 2 seconds into the call, I had put sesame street on to try and extend my 20 minute window of accomplishment. Cookie Monster is now added to the growing list of things that scare S. (also on the list, Swiper Fox, Thomas the Train, and anyone on Word Girl)

I did somehow manage to transfer the balance, but I'm not entirely sure how.

This is just a blip in the day- but things are mounding. I'm waiting to hear if my work has been accepted into a show that ordinarily I wouldn't care about, but my work ship is sinking, I need a fix of positivity. The taxes, the taxes, the taxes. The fact that the tax preparation is directly linked to the financial aid process for H's potential kindergarten. The fact that it is all out of my control. Things are just flying around where the current takes them, I am standing here pretending I have 8 arms and a giant butterfly net to bring things into balance. Pretending I'd know what to do with these things if I could catch them in the first place.

Fake it until you make it? I am the picture of calm. I have it all an arms length away. I only need 2 arms. I only need one tax form, I only need one kindergarten. Its not working.