It's that time again

Tonight I'm braving the thunderstorms, the heat, the crowds, and the traffic so that I can hang out, eat junky food, and catch up with a friend for a while. I don't really like fairs all that much but I admit that I'm looking forward to getting out. I've been too stressed lately.

My daughter is in dog club, so I get a free pass this year and have to be there several days for her dog events. The first is tomorrow evening. It's supposed to thunderstorm every day. It has been doing that all week, so I have no reason to doubt the prediction. I hope the dog isn't scared of storms.

One of her events is the costume contest. Their theme is books. So she is basing her costume on the first Harry Potter book. She is going as Hermione. And her puppy is going as Fluffy, the three-headed dog:
Puppy seems less than thrilled at the idea.

Everyone complains about the weather, right?

I keep asking myself why.

Why do my insecurities, like the weather this week, hover overhead, constantly threatening storms? Thick, heavy, sultry, heat-filled fears weigh me down until my pores weep, reacting to the pressure.

I try to convince myself that the weather will break soon.

Some days I feel a cool breeze lightening the load. I look up to the expansive sky and watch my hopes soar until they blend into the distant blue, like a bird that has just escaped the confinements of its cage.

I feel like that bird. I am that bird.

And then, the clouds change, sometimes gradually so that I barely notice until I hear the threatening rumble of the distant thunder, and sometimes so suddenly that I barely have time to open my umbrella. Winds gather, furiously whipping at its ribs until it flips inside out, baring its ugly interior to anyone unlucky enough to see.

I scramble for cover, blaming the wind, the clouds, the sky, the watching bystanders. I know it's not their fault, really, any of them. It's no one's fault. It just is.

But as the storm threatens, I need someone or something to blame.

And as I huddle in my little storm shelter, arms wrapped around myself, I wonder...

When will these storms finally pass? When will the sunshine feel warming rather than sweltering? When will the breezes cool rather than turn my umbrella inside out?

And when will I be able to accept the storms... to watch and revel in their glorious beauty through my skylight... rather than huddle to protect myself from their power and fury?

Yes, I can be an airhead. So sue me.

Monday evening after work, I was very busy at home. In preparation for the impending arrival of my new washer & dryer, I removed the 8 cabinet doors in my utility room. I didn't want to have to work around huge appliances to paint the cabinets at a later time. (Well-painted hinge screws made this a VERY time-consuming task.) I then proceeded to wash, prime, and paint the cabinets, as well as wall that would be behind the appliances.

I didn't finish the cabinets, but I did manage to get the ones above the appliances finished by 4:00 am. Needless to say, I was a bit less than my normal perky self yesterday at work. I got my new washer & dryer yesterday afternoon:

Once the delivery guys left, I got to work on my laundry. I did one load, stuck it in the dryer, and then started washing a second load. This morning when I went to take the first load out of the dryer, it was still damp.  I put it in for another cycle while I showered. Still damp. And cold, too. I was near cursing at my new dryer that didn't work, when I remembered... for a gas dryer to produce heat, you sort of have to turn on the gas.

Bingo!

'Just Being' looks like this...

When I first decided that confronting my fears and fixing my future meant I'd be taking this path, I tried to think about what I WANTED out of my life.  And at that time, the only way I could put it was that I wanted to just be. That may not be a very descriptive term to some, but to me it gives a whole variety of peaceful images:

• sitting in the sunlight reading a book without being interrupted and reminded about the work that isn't getting done
• puttering around in a garden, looking at which flowers have sprouted without being asked when I'm going to get it weeded
• walking barefoot in the grass without someone having a fit because my feet are getting dirty
• eating grilled cheese sandwiches for supper because cooking a meal didn't feel like the evening's priority, and no one complaining that it's not healthy

So last night I came home from work.  My daughter is with me this week, but she spent yesterday evening with him to go to karate, so I had a few hours to myself.  I currently can't walk through the living room or dining room... they are so packed full of boxes and stuff, just dumped there when it was moved in.  So I should have gone to work inside, washing off bookshelves and storage shelves, carrying boxes down into the basement and library.  But I didn't.

'Just being' means not always doing what you should be doing.  It was sunny and beautiful... a bit chilly, but the rain has stopped and I wanted to enjoy it.

So I sat out on the driveway, surrounded by pails and dirt, and potted my summer geranium planters.  The dog whimpered nearby, upset at being tied just far enough away that she couldn't happily assist me in my digging.  New neighbors that I haven't yet met drove by and waved hello.

After cleaning up, I went to pick up my daughter.  We stopped by a friend's house who wanted to give us some of her unneeded household items to help me get started, then we made our way home.  I made sloppy joe sandwiches which we ate with leftover cucumber-tomato pasta salad.  At 11 pm. And no one complained.

'Just being' is rather nice.

But I'm a cat person!!!

I woke up grumpy this morning.

Now granted, I'm not a morning person.  I can happily stay up to 2 am most any day, but if I have to get up before the sun wakes me, I won't be happy.  Ever.  And given that it rains every day, there is no sun waking me these days.  So let me sleep already.

But even if I were a morning person, 5:30 am is too early to wake up to a dog barking.  Nonstop.  For an hour.  I was ready to curse the neighbors who were so thoughtless to let a dog bark at that time of the morning. I was also ready to call the police, but I decided that as the new kid on the block, that didn't look very good.

So I covered my head with a pillow and muttered.  And texted a friend who works with the animal control officer on the police department once I knew she'd be up. 

Turns out, it wasn't a thoughtless neighbor.  Minutes after I texted my friend, my doorbell rang.  Three of my new neighbors were outside with two dogs... asking if they were mine.  (They probably thought that I was the thoughtless new neighbor, just like I thought one of them was!  Oops!)

The animal control officer and my friend were both off work today for election day, so our only recourse was to call the humane shelter, which we couldn't bear to do.  So I volunteered my fenced in yard, and left for work with two sad puppies penned in my yard.

My post on Craigslist has not given me a response from their owner, but I'm hoping that one of the neighbors had better luck.  They are cute, friendly little pups... though given their volume, I think I'd have to pass!

 

Here's hoping they didn't dig TOO many holes in my hard while I'm at work today!

Busy-ness

I'd like to put in an order for 30-hour days instead of 24.  Just temporarily, but it would really help me get caught up if I had just a few more hours each day.

If that's not possible... does anyone wanna come help me clean & paint?

Five long years

Five years ago today, I was at a different place in my life, and my post from that day shows it clearly. It was obviously not a good place to be.

So today, I want to shout from the rooftops:

I AM FINALLY A TURTLE!!!

Learning to be

I dread weekends. I have for a very long time.

It seems like most people like weekends... it's their time to wind down, do fun things, and not have to go to work. But at our house? It's the time when you work nonstop to do all of the things you didn't have time to do all week.

Granted there is SOME free time... I normally take off on a Saturday morning to run errands... do banking, stand in line at the post office, catch up on various shopping tasks that couldn't get done during the week. And I spend at least an hour each weekend day at the dog park.

But during the week, he's at work. Weekends? You don't know when he'll be there and when he won't. And if he's there, you don't know what he will be insistent that HAS to be done. I realize that I can always just say, "No." But it's not the actual work that is the stress... I can work very hard, and I'm not afraid of it. He somehow just exudes stress.

When he is around, everyone is just on edge. Even my mom commented something similar on Monday when I contacted my parents to tell them what was going on. Mom said that she didn't have any nervous problems when it was just me & the kids coming out for a visit, but she'd get all stressed about a visit when she knew he was coming too. Mom commented that with him, everything always has to be 'just so'.

More than ten years ago, I realized how much more relaxed it was at home during the times he'd go away for a week of training. The kids and I would have such a nice week, doing what we wanted to do when we wanted to do it. The important things still got done... they just didn't have to get done on any particular schedule.

As I look forward, I still have difficulty with goals. I don't know what I want my life to look like. I don't really have big hopes or dreams. I don't need to start a business or change the world.

My goals are far simpler: I look forward to being able to just be.

In Retrospect

One of the things I have done during my journey toward life is to come back here. I have reviewed many of my posts over the years, and wondered why I was so blind. My posts seem to show the cycle of abuse so clearly, yet I never saw it.

If he had hit me, I would have known it was physical abuse. If he had called me names or treated me like my brother's wife treated him, I would have known it was verbal abuse.

But I didn't know what emotional abuse was. All I knew was that the depression and insanity that I felt never seemed to end.

Would I have seen it if someone had said it before? People have claimed that they did... but I don't remember ever being given a name for it. Being able to Google a particular term and see myself in the information that I found was mind-boggling.

Giving a name to the insanity is the most important step.

Forgiving myself for the things that I did to cope with the insanity runs a very close second. I've made some really dumb mistakes. I've trusted some very non-trustworthy people. I've gone against my own beliefs in an effort to get the 'emotional fix' I needed because my self-esteem was so low. I've lived in fear of some of those things being found out.

But some of them HAVE been found out. And it is incredibly empowering to just be able to shrug and say to myself, "That was then. And I was a different person then."

Once you face your worst fears, you don't have to be afraid any more.

¡Queso!

This morning before work, I stretched out on the couch & read a book. In the aftermath of my announcement to my husband, several months ago, that I wanted to divorce, he purchased this book. He gave it to our daughter to read yesterday, and she left it laying out so I took the opportunity to read it this morning.

It's a simple, childish story but with an important message.

So this morning, I thought about cheese, and my reaction to it. About how I approach change (or run from it). And I realized something important... my husband was right in one of the things he said to me, though not in his interpretation of it. He told me that what I'm doing isn't like me, and interpreted that to mean that someone or something else is influencing me in some way. It must be depression, or menopause, or an affair, or friends telling me what to do.

It couldn't possibly be that I finally realized I was starving, and would die if I didn't finally find some new cheese. Could it?

What I'm doing really ISN'T like me. Facing problems... dealing with them... making the decision to actually leave him... that's very unlike me.

I tend to be like Hem in the book.

I put up with the lack of cheese in my marriage for a very long time. I did everything I could to find a way to ignore the fact that I had no more cheese. I starved myself, and tried everything I could try to make up for the fact that the cheese was long gone.

Until, eventually, unlike Hem, I felt like dying might be more pleasant than living without cheese. I knew that I had to go against everything in me and venture out into the maze to find some cheese again. So I finally chose Haw's route.

The maze can be pretty scary at times, but every time I find a few crumbs of cheese, it serves as a reminder that even more cheese is out there for me.

Some days that reminder is invigorating and exciting. Other days the fear still overwhelms, and I have to keep reminding myself to keep going in spite of the fear.

Throughout Haw's journey through the maze, searching for new cheese, he periodically wrote various "truths" that he discovered on the maze walls. One of Haw's mottoes is especially important in my quest:

"What Would You Do If You Weren't Afraid?"

Answering that question is an ongoing journey.

Fear

Today the fear hit again: the jittery feelings & nervousness. The unknown is out there, waiting to pounce. And I'm scared of it.

I don't take this step in my life lightly. It terrifies me. I have never embraced change... I've tried to kick its grasp off of my ankle as I pulled myself, screaming, in the other direction.

But now... today... I know that I can't do that. I need to keep going the direction that I've been going. In the long run, it'll be a good thing.

But for the short term, I just sort of wish I could have two good days in a row.

*edit* the jitters turned into panic. some days I wonder why I chose to do anything.

A message from God

Today, as I sat down at the beginning of the church service, I said a little prayer... that God would give me something that I need to hear from the service. Turns out he had two messages for me.

First, he gave me a verse:

So don't worry about tomorrow, because tomorrow will have its own worries. Each day has enough trouble of its own. Matthew 6:34

So today, I thought about each of the things that I am worrying about. One at a time, mostly, except that they kept interrupting each other. Run-on worries, are kind of like run-on sentences. They keep going and going, until they end up as this huge tangled yarn-ball of worry.

I sat back to try to separate the worries into individual pieces. How will I tell my daughter? What and how do I tell my parents and brothers & sister? Will I get the house that I want to put an offer on? When will I find someone that I can just call when I need someone to sit with or get a hug from? How will I move my piano? (Yes, my worries can be pretty specific, or even petty, at times.

And as I named each of those worries, the knots began to loosen in me, just like that yarn-ball beginning to untangle. I could see that I've been grouping a whole month or more of worries into one big worry ball. So it's ok to just worry about the first worry on the list, and let the rest come in their own time.

And the other message I got was from this video, that was shown during the sermon.

God loves us too much to leave us where we are at.

God loves me too much to leave me where I am at. This will pass.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

It took me a while, but I think I finally got it.

Last August a close friend got very upset with me, and claimed I had disrespected him. And that confused me, bigtime. See... I really never knew what respect was. I always thought respect was sort of synonymous with showing deference. It just meant that you treated someone well.

But then, 'well' is a relative term, isn't it?

Now, I realized that he's Italian, so I started out thinking that maybe he saw respect differently than my type of people... those Swiss-German immigrants from the early 1800's may not have held the same views. But blaming a misunderstanding on ethnic origin is really a cop-out. I'm a smart girl, so I decided that I was perfectly capable of figuring out what respect meant to him.

I turned to my old, trusty friend... Google. I dug into the whole mafia use of the term. I used dictionaries. I browsed any websites that I could find that seemed to define respect. And I discovered that the closest thing to respect that I could find was empathy.

Sympathy is easy of course... you just feel sorry when someone else has problems. But empathy is tough, because you don't feel sorry... you feel the problems. You walk their path... in their skin... wearing their shoes.

And respect is like that too. Some might think that respect is kind of like the golden rule: "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." But it's not; it's so much more.

My definition is more like, "Do unto others as they would have you do unto themselves." It's a shift in perspective from yourself to them. Seeing things through their eyes. Truly taking their feelings and opinions into account, and responding to them according to what is of importance to them.

And respect isn't easy... it takes some real effort. You can't just guess what is important to someone, or how they will view an event. You have to truly get to know them, and work to see things through their eyes. It's a shift beyond simple generosity, to truly having someone else's best interests at heart.

Which made me wonder... how often do we not even truly respect ourselves? How often do we truly act with our own best interests in mind?

Because if we don't respect ourselves, who else will?

Takin' the high road

Let's have a little talk about God.

He and I have been getting a lot closer these days, since I came back and told him what a mess I had been. We talk a lot. I ask a lot of questions and make a few requests here and there too. Things like:

Help me survive today.
And tomorrow too, while you're at it. Please?

I'm no saint. I made some pretty big screw-ups in the past 10-plus years while my marriage sucked. I didn't consider divorce to be an option, so I looked for ways to survive the present. And some of them were glaringly WRONG ways.

I found online friends who I could talk to: friends who supported me, time and time again, while I was falling apart. And I found other friends who supported me while relationships with other friends who had supported me fell apart. Through the years, some of these friends were kind of left along the wayside, probably because they were tired of my constant neediness and apparent inability to do anything to fix the situation.

I can't blame them. I annoyed myself too. Still do, some days. But I'm trying... really I am.

Somehow, when I finally said those three big words to one really special friend, everything finally started falling into place. (Not the three little words... the three BIG words)

You were right.

Trust me, those can be some really big words to have to say. But if you say them... if you really look at yourself, and admit that you were wrong... really face the path you've been on and admit it's not working... really turn around and face the path that you should have taken 10-plus years before... things start to fall into place.

God has sent me some pretty amazing validations over the past few months...

• Support and validation when I needed it, in any number of areas from many different people.
• The ability to finally begin to work full-time after working part time for over 18 years (more income is always a good thing when in this situation! And yes, I had asked before, but was always told, "It's not in the budget".)
  
• A supportive boss.
• An even more supportive minister, who during my first meeting with him told me, "It's ok to put down the cross and forgive yourself."
  
• The above-mentioned friend and recipient of those three words being there for me, day in and day out, to support me when I didn't feel that I had the strength to keep on this path.
• The ability to finally begin to see and recognize the many tactics my husband used... the ones that kept me confused and trapped for so many years.
• Finding the perfect books to help me see what I needed to see.
• A casual friend who started a book club at just the time I needed, so I could begin to make some local friends.
• A reduction in price to my price range on the house that I fell in love with just from the photos on the listing.

Don't get me wrong. It's been a tough, lonely path so far. There were a few glaring episodes of lack of support from people I expected to be there for me. And I know it will continue to be tough for some time. But I think God's glad enough to see me on this path that he's granting a few extra favors along the way.

And the right path, even when lonely, feels so much more right than the wrong path.

The pebble in my backpack

I have this backpack I wear.

You can't see it, but it's always there. It holds these little pebbles... little things that I think and feel, but am not comfortable enough to share with someone else.

Sometimes the pebbles start to get heavier and heavier. Some, you would swear, are bricks, not pebbles. Perhaps even concrete building blocks. Some even feel like boulders.

I've been holding this one boulder in my backpack for over 10 years now. It started out tiny... just a hint of a thought, really. But as I gained self-realization, the pebble grew heavier. It became harder to carry alone, but too personal to share.

In time, I told a few close friends about my pebble. They'd help lift the backpack for me from time to time, but it was still my job to carry it - that tiny pebble that felt like a mountain on my back.

About a week ago, my husband told me something that he had been told, and along with it, added his 'interpretation' of the event. It stung, but his interpretation hurt more than the words he had been told. In thinking about it, I realized that his interpretation was most likely wrong and I felt more and more that I needed to tell him so. But in order to tell him, I had to open my backpack, and show him that massive rock I had been carrying around.

The fear at that thought was instantaneous. What would he think of that long-hidden pebble that had grown so large? Would he understand it, or reject it?

I plotted for a week, pulling together my thoughts on how to approach the subject. I gathered other instances that helped support and explain my points. I practiced on one of those close friends who knew about the pebble; friends who had watched it grow over the years and who understood what a load it was.

And I planned my timing carefully - I needed enough time to discuss this thoroughly. The 2 hour car dive on Sunday seemed the perfect opportunity.

In spite of the preparation, I was almost too afraid to open that zipper and take it out. I put my hand on the pull a few times, and took it off again without opening it. But as I tried to just hide the backpack under the seat, I knew it was important to stay strong.

I slowly opened the zipper, bringing up the topic that I knew would allow my lead-in. When the pull stuck a little, I took a deep breath, and tugged it on until it was entirely open.

And then I took out the boulder and showed it to him. I didn't point out all of it's bumps and ridges, but I let him get a good look at it. I described it just enough that he knew what it was like.

And then I realized something. He didn't ask many questions. He just took it at face value and moved on to other subjects. And the face value was that it really WAS just a pebble to him.

My backpack is a lot lighter today.

Because I Said So!

It's the middle of back to school month. I say 'month' because we couldn't do it all in one week, right? We have to have a different week for each kid to begin school, so we can drag out the joy.

Last week was Blondie. We took him back down to his boarding school and got him moved in, all pretty tearlessly. Not bad, except he didn't bother communicating with his roommate, and when we got down there, we found both boys had brought microwaves, and both assumed that the other was bringing the bed loft. But what's another 5 hours of driving the next day in a special trip, to take the bed loft down? My kid is worth it, right?

Right. I guess. But I still wouldn't mind if he weren't QUITE so blonde sometimes!

This week is Doober. Who isn't blonde. And doesn't really have blonde moments. But he DOES have stubborn, push-the-limits-right-to-the-edge moments.

So Wednesday we got his hair cut. Thinking I'd be nice, I took him to a salon instead of pulling out my trusty scissors myself. I let him specify how he wanted it done, as long as it met dress code (not below the ear lobes or past the eyebrows or over the collar).

Well, 1 out of 3 is ok, right? No? The school didn't think so either. So next week I will be pulling out my trusty scissors. I'm not paying another $15 just a week later. He may not like it as much this time, but it WILL meet dress code!

And Thursday I drove him to school, a half hour each way, for his one-hour orientation day. I still don't understand why they can't hand out schedules, planners, locker assignments, and take school pictures on the first day of school, but they don't. So I took a couple hours out of my work day to drive him over and wait around for the hour until he was done.

On the way home I noticed he was still clutching the school picture envelope. I may be a bit naive at times, but I know that school picture companies generally don't give away their photos for free. So I'm pretty sure he shouldn't still have had the envelope.

"They wouldn't take my picture," he explained. "I have to get them done on retakes day."

On a normal school day, that little bit of hair that wasn't freshly shaved on his upper lip would have meant a $1 fee to pay for a disposable razor, a trip to the bathroom to remove it, and a detention for breaking dress code. Apparently on school picture day, it just means that you aren't good enough for their cameras.

It's probably a good thing he didn't tell me right away. I might have caused a scene in the school. And I wouldn't want to do that, because I need to stockpile my scene-causing gift for use on Monday.

Yes, Monday. Back-to-school night at the Pumpkin's school. I'm planning it already. I need to be ready. I've been planning it for several months, actually, and I want to be sure I don't wimp out.

Ok, I should probably catch you up, so I'll let you read this little gem from the revised school dress code:

Shoes are to compliment the uniform rather than detract from it. Plain leather dress shoes (low heels only) or athletic shoes in a solid color (no contrasting stitching or contrasting logos) of brown, black, white, or navy blue are acceptable. Bright, gaudy, or distracting colors for the shoe laces are to be avoided. Shoes must have a closed heel and toe. No sandals, clogs, or boots of any style are allowed. Shoes must be kept tied, buckled, or fastened for safety. Shoes with laces must be tied tight with the tied bow showing on the upper tongue area of the shoe. Shoe jewelry is not allowed.

The second sentence is in bold. That is the change from last year to this one. And this other statement regarding the gym clothing dress code is also applicable to my point:

Students are to wear gym shoes and socks. The gym shoes (following the same guidelines as established for athletic shoes in uniform/dress code) must be used only for gym and not worn as street shoes. Please avoid gym shoes with black or dark soles that leave marks on the gym floor.

On Saturday I plan to take the Pumpkin shoe shopping. I will be stopping at the running store where I got her shoes last spring for track. And I will take a picture of the sign they have on their wall.

"You do not buy shoes by color. You buy shoes by fit."
This is my beef.

Sure, being anal about shoe color is a bit extreme, to say the least. I sincerely doubt that the purple plaid button on my daughter's black dress shoes last year kept any other students from learning at their top potential. But it's not impossible to find her a pair of solid-colored black or white or blue or brown dress shoes.

What IS impossible is finding a good quality pair of solid-colored black or white or blue or brown athletic shoes that are made for running. All such shoes have contrasting stitching and logos! I could possibly find her cross-trainers - walking shoes - basketball shoes - but not running shoes. And the kids are expected to do a lot a running in gym class. Our family has had numerous issues related to running and shoes. I will not have her develop shin splits, stress fractures, or other foot problems due to ill-fitting shoes that aren't designed for running. Before I will allow that, I will take her to our doctor and get a written statement that she isn't allowed to participate in gym class due to the shoe requirement.

I'm not sure if I can make a bunch of pea-brained people see reason when they are overly-enjoying exerting their self-perceived authority. But I am not the only parent who is getting tired of nit-picky dress code rules becoming more and more strict every year, with absolutely NO parental involvement in the process, and no explanation of the problems that caused them to need to make said changes.

I am a consensus person. When I set rules, I want them to be followed, and I believe the best way to do that is for everyone to understand why the rules are necessary. I am not one for creating rules just for the sake of rules. And my kids know this, so they generally follow my rules with very little issue. They can understand why the rules are necessary, and they also appreciate that I respect THEM enough to not just say, "Because I said so."

Someone needs to tell the school that "Because I said so" just doesn't cut it.

Overwhelmed

There's this thing that I hate about blogging: it's anonymous, but it isn't. So there are things that I can't really talk about, because I don't want you to know TOO much about me. But there are things that I can only talk about to those who really know me well too. So there's this whole subset of life that I can't, or at least shouldn't, really blog about, but it eats at me.

Stuff like my brother going to jail. Because it's too personal to write about, and if I say that I have a brother in jail, you'll think he's a bad guy.

But he isn't. He's a really, really good guy.

A guy who spent years being worn down by his life (and certain people in his life) until he wasn't really himself any more. And then he made one mistake and felt devastated and guilty and almost suicidal because of it, and went to a counselor for help. And the counselor said she couldn't help his type of issues, but she still had to turn him in to the police. And he was fine with the latter, but not the former, because when you need help and all you get is legal issues, it really doesn't help you, does it?

So now he's in jail. For a year.

And I really miss him. And he can only have 3 visitors, once a week for 15 minutes. And I'd have to drive 3 hours to see him for that 15 minute time-slot, and he'd have to put me on that month's list of 6 allowed visitors, leaving others off the list. So that probably won't happen. Knowing that makes missing his phone call attempt last week a little harder to swallow, since I can't call him back.

And I think of all the things he'll miss, and the things he has already missed. He was the only family member (out of 38 kids, in-laws, grandkids, and great-grandkids) who didn't make it to mom & dad's 60th anniversary gathering. He'll spend his 50th birthday in jail. He'll miss Christmas with our family, and perhaps even my son's high school graduation. And once he gets out, he'll have to go into a new field of work, because his old occupation won't be an option after this.

It all makes me wonder. Why can some people plea-bargain out of almost anything, and yet other people who turn themselves in and beg for help, end up with their lives devastated?

Too Much Updated

Back in the middle of June, I posted a cliffs notes version of my life at that point. I thought this needed an update.

Art class went great but was too busy of a time for me. I was fighting two work deadlines the same week, so my project still isn't quite done. Which means I can't show it to you finished yet. All that's left is the "fixing"... using a chemical to fix the dyes and then wash it out thoroughly. But I had to pack it away for two showings and an open house.

Soon, I promise. I want it done too! In the meantime, here's an "in process" view... it's totally painted now, so much further along than this. I spent most of the week sketching out the pattern, so this was how it looked after 4 days of class!!


My daughter's on the other hand... she actually finished two. Her watercolor landscape painting of a photo that Old Hippi Chick sent us, and a painted silk scarf. She spent a lot of time on them at home, which I couldn't really do that week.

Daisy (our female Russian Tortoise) died too, less than a week after Speedy. We assume they must have caught some sort of fungal virus. The night before she died was the pumpkin's birthday party, so right after introducing Daisy to all of her friends, she had to let them all know that Daisy had died. She was a bit upset, but just thankful that it wasn't Peppermint (her pet guinea pig.) She loves that piggy (who very much lives up to his 'piggy' name!)

The lump was diagnosed as one of the same cysts as before. They couldn't explain why I could feel it now but not before. But now that it's a hard cyst, it hurts. Most of the time. And I find myself randomly rubbing that side of my breast when I recline back and stretch my arm up. Which may or may not look socially acceptable.

But then, I suppose I may or may not look socially acceptable anyway.

Or so I've been told by my kids, though not in quite those terms. *shrug*

And just a random question for you:

Is it odd that I have an uncontrollable urge to sing "I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts" every time I harvest my coconut trees in Farm Town?

Too much

Lately there's been too much going on to blog about. I think I'd rather have too little and not know what to say, than too much and not be able to choose!

So, you get the Cliff's notes version:

It's art class time again. One of those things you don't have time for but do anyway. I figure that if my daughter begs to spend time with me doing this, it's important to do it. At almost 13, the days she wants to spend with me are probably somewhat limited.

Speedy died. We don't know why.

I have a lump. I can't get it checked until next Tuesday, though I'm pretty sure it's just a change in a cyst I've had a long time. During the daytime, I'm not really bothered. But at night I don't sleep well.

I have all sorts of great quotes from conversations with the kids that I can't remember long enough to blog about - bloggable moments that never seem to get put to words.

So instead I give you a diary of sorts. Sucks to be you.

Is it bad to hang up on my husband?

He calls me. Almost every day, during one of his 3 breaks.

"Any news?" "Anyone call or come over?"

I get that he's bored with his work. Unfortunately, I'm not. I'm swamped. It's not that I mind a phone call for a reason. It's just that I'm not here for his entertainment, and it annoys me.

What annoys me more is when he calls me to nag at me.

Today he asked if I had sent out a check he asked me to send. The address was in his email, which he can't be bothered to forward to me. I'm just supposed to log into his email and find it.

Quick answer: no, I hadn't.

Longer answer: I was going through some bills a couple days ago, and got sidetracked by some other items and hadn't gotten to that one. And he came and found me at my desk when apparently I was supposed to be packing up the garage sale leftovers. Even though he had also asked me to do these bills. I didn't realize the sequence was important, but apparently it was, as he got rather irate at me for not having the garage sale boxes all packed when he got home.

So today, when he called and asked if I had sent the check and I hadn't, I got the spiel about "what were you doing when you didn't pack up the garage sale?"

So I hung up. Which rather pisses him off, by the way.

But I generally feel better for not having listened to him ranting at me, at least until I get the rant about not hanging up on him.