Archive for August, 2007

Happy.

Today is my wedding anniversary.  Well, our wedding anniversary, since I don’t think I can claim it as just mine seeing as B had a big part in the whole thing.

This is the anniversary of the day when we decided to go ahead and get married.  There was no long engagement for us.  In fact, there was no engagement at all.  Oh, we knew we were going to get married one day, don’t get me wrong.  We just didn’t know it would be that day until there we were, at the courthouse, signing our names.

Normally I would tell you that I’m the type of person who plans everything.  I do research, I over-think, I plan, plan, plan.  But in reality, I seem to do a lot of things on the spur of the moment.  And I’m only just now realizing it.  I don’t know what has changed about me–whether it’s just getting older, or a shift in my personality–but I’m definitely not the same person I once was.  But no matter how much I change, B is always right there with me, suffering or enjoying me, whichever the case may be.

So I’ll never regret our impromptu trip to the courthouse.  It seems that the best things in my life have been things I didn’t plan, but just did.

Happy Anniversary to me.  And him.

(Also, it’s B’s birthday tomorrow.  Show him some love.)

Hair!What happened to the hair?!

Okay. 

I’m taking deep breaths here. 

I’m trying not to overreact. 

I’m trying to remain calm. 

But I’m having a hard time.

*sob*

So.  Y’all remember when I went and got my hair cut off?  Remember how I had waxed poetic about how great the cut was and how much I liked it?  Remember??

 Well, that cut was getting longer and it was starting to lose it’s magic.  It didn’t feel so great anymore.  It felt too long, too bushy, too out of shape.  (Hmmm, out of shape much like my own self.)  It was time for a new haircut.

*sob*

And I’m sure you know where I’m going with this, right?  I’m trying to remain calm…time for a haircut…lots of sobbing…

I took myself — spur of the moment like, because that seems to be how I do everything — to the same place I got the great haircut before.  I told myself that all I needed was a trim.  The lines of the haircut would remain the same, so a trim would be simple.  And then I would sashay myself on out of there and be bea-yu-ti-ful once again.

*sob*

But, oh god, it wasn’t that simple. 

It wasn’t the same. 

It wasn’t what I wanted. 

It sure as hell wasn’t bea-yu-ti-ful. 

*sob*

*wail*

I am now the proud owner of something that looks a lot like a bowl cut, complete with too short bangs!

*throwing my hands up in the air and screaming*

Y’all, you need to stop me next time.  You need to tell me to walk right out of the salon when I see that the lady doing my hair has a hair-do much like that of a mushroom.  You need to HELP ME!!

*whimper*

Little bits.

  • So you know how I was nervous about the kids’ teachers?  Well, while I love one of them, the other child’s teacher is, um… getting off to a bad start (according to me.)  I’m trying very hard to be patient and tell myself that sometimes it takes a little while for everyone to get used to everyone else, and that maybe I should reserve judgement until after, say, the first month of school.  But I’m already judging, oh yes, I am, and she’s not coming out on the winning side.  That’s all I’m saying.
  • We said goodbye to the guinea pigs yesterday.  It was something that my husband and I wanted to do for a while, because, for goodness sake, they’re glorified rats, but we had held off on doing because they were meant for the kids.  But once we finally bit the bullet and asked, the kids said it was okay to give them away.  Okay, okay, so we played the whole going to a better home card and told the kids how much we regretted that we just weren’t able to care for them in the manner they needed to be cared for anymore.  We weren’t able to get them out in their playpen and let them run around anymore.  We kept forgetting to give them water when they ran out.  Their nails needed clipping, and I didn’t want to touch their little rat feet have time to do it.  So when I saw an ad on Craigslist –which, by the way, was the first time I’d ever done anything other than just peruse the ads– for a preschool teacher who was looking for a classroom pet, I knew the guineas would be perfect for them and I emailed her.  She came to pick them up yesterday, and I felt really bad.  I felt like I should be giving them some sort of farewell kiss or something.  Instead, I just helped her load everything into her minivan and waved goodbye.  I don’t even think she knew their names…
  • I have been using the time before I go back to work to try and get some things cleared out of the house.  We did the kids’ rooms before school started, and got a whole lot of junk out of there, and now it’s my turn to do the rest of the house.  So far I’ve managed to bring back some order to the kitchen, but I have had a metal block on the rest of the house.  I know what I want to do, and even have a “game plan” on where to start and what to do with the whole truck-full of junk I’m sure I’ll be ready to part with.  Yet I haven’t been able to bring myself to actually do any of it.  Starting this seems to be a very hard thing for me to do.  Also, does anyone know where on earth all this junk has come from?  How did we manage to accumulate all of this extra stuff in such a short time?  And, good golly, how are we managing to live in such filth?  Okay, so if you know me, you know it’s really not filthy here.  But it is beyond my comfort level.  If I had a meter that read my personal comfort level with accumulated junk, the meter would be screaming for mercy right about now.  In fact, I’m screaming for mercy right about now because this is way off my personal charts!  This is a code red!!  Maybe I should go back to obsessing about how much I think this one teacher is doing wrong.  That’ll give me something other than sroting junk to focus on.

“…when combined, makes a special kind of cranky.”

Today was the kids’ first day of school.  And all night last night I tossed and turned.  I couldn’t sleep because I was so nervous.  I was nervous about their new teachers, and countless other things that I really had no business being nervous about, because it will all work out.  But I was nervous anyway. 

So this morning I was nervous and sleepless, which, when combined, makes a special kind of cranky.  A kind of cranky that makes you short-tempered with your children and very, very anxious.

However, in spite of it all, I managed to get the kids off to school.  I do think they were nervous too, but they were troopers, those two, real troopers.  And even when the school called me to tell me The Boy couldn’t find his lunch in his backpack, I managed to keep calm and instructed them to look in the other zippered compartment of his backpack.  And lo and behold, there was his lunch, and we were okay.

So why is it that I am feeling so emotional?  Why does it feel so much like I didn’t do something important?  Why do I feel weird about dropping them off at school and coming home alone?

Oh, it’s the alone part that feels weird.  I came home all alone.  I am now all alone.  Just me.  And I have no idea what it is they are doing right this minute.  That’s what feels weird.

And also, I forgot to take pictures.  This is the first day in their whole school careers that I have not taken pictures of them before they’ve gone.

I’m alone, and forgetful, and cranky.  Oh my.

Singing along.

You know that Umbrella song?  By Rihanna?  Maybe you don’t.  Maybe you are not forced to listen to the local Top 40 station while your kids sing along to the same four -maybe five, if you’re lucky- songs in the back of your minivan.  Well, whether you are familiar with the song or not, check out this version by Mandy Moore.  I like it so much better that the original.

And the irony in my recommending a song by Mandy Moore is not lost on me. But you know, you get old, and you start to broaden your horizons. Oh yeah, it’ll happen to you too, you smug young’in. Next thing you know, you’ll start to think that maybe Justin Timberlake isn’t too bad after all, and it’s all down hill from there. Trust me.

Let me wallow for the night. It’s therapeutic.

Tonight we went to Open House at the kids’ school.  It was the night where we met the teachers for the first time, saw the classrooms, and found out which kids were in the same classes from last year, etc…

I just want to go on the record as saying:  I hate Open House.  It’s not that I don’t like meeting the teachers and seeing the classrooms, it’s just that I hate the crowds.  The god-awful crowds.

I also hate the big groups of parents who always walk through the school like they own the place and take up all the teacher’s time with their questions about who will run the fund-raising, and whether or not little Brent or Wyatt or Riley will have a chance to bring in their fire-juggling grandmother, or some such thing that really has no business being discussed on Open House night.  ( Am I bitter much?  Yes, very. )

Mostly I hate feeling inadequate, which I often do by not being one of those parents.  Those parents who call the teacher by their first names, and already know what time lunch will be and what days they will join the kids for their meal, for example.  They know what kinds of questions to ask to ensure that every possible kid-based scenario will be handled with the utmost of ease, and they know the right things to say to the teacher to get into their good graces.  I feel inadequate because I just go in, introduce myself, find the child’s seat, and then leave.  I don’t know what to ask yet, because I’m overwhelmed enough by the big crowds of people and all the hustle and bustle. 

Bah… tonight I’m left with a lot of emotions–some I can’t even name, much less describe–that leave me just very…discontent. 

I wish I was the type of person who felt adequate in these situations, and then maybe I could walk away from Open House feeling very content. 

And calling the teacher by her first name.

Ka-bam!

This morning we took the dog to the vet for her next round of shots and also her regularly scheduled check-up.  She’s doing well, and growing like a weed.  My children were wild and out of control (much like weeds, also) but otherwise the whole visit went well.  Until it came time to pay.  Then I almost went into shock and my heart stopped working there for a second.

Once my heart got itself working again, we went to buy school supplies.  I paid $90 (and I’m rounding down here) for supplies.  $90.00!  And that was without having to buy backpacks or lunchboxes, and also without having to buy several items I already had and the few that the store didn’t carry. 

I would write more, but my brain has exploded – along with my checkbook.