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I finally got to meet Sage! We live basically in the same town, although the house he lives in with him mom is actually outside of Sacramento where it stops looking like town (Eric calls it the California-Kentucky border), but we only just got together. He came over on Saturday and when I met him at the door, he did this little excited little squeal and said, "Makeover!" He whipped out this makeup case that was bigger than my suitcase and started cutting hair and trying out makeup and got me all dolled up. It was great fun because this guy can talk soaps NONSTOP. We were chattering like magpies the whole time. He is EXACTLY like you picture him. Lots of wonderful swish and yakking and laughing. My sides were aching and my mascara was running from tears of laughter. It was such a great time. So here is the before picture. My hair was actually a lot longer, down to the middle of my back, but I basically looked the same:
[ Error: Irreparable invalid markup ('<img [...] <br>') in entry. Owner must fix manually. Raw contents below.] I finally got to meet Sage! We live basically in the same town, although the house he lives in with him mom is actually outside of Sacramento where it stops looking like town (Eric calls it the California-Kentucky border), but we only just got together. He came over on Saturday and when I met him at the door, he did this little excited little squeal and said, "Makeover!" He whipped out this makeup case that was bigger than my suitcase and started cutting hair and trying out makeup and got me all dolled up. It was great fun because this guy can talk soaps NONSTOP. We were chattering like magpies the whole time. He is EXACTLY like you picture him. Lots of wonderful swish and yakking and laughing. My sides were aching and my mascara was running from tears of laughter. It was such a great time. So here is the before picture. My hair was actually a lot longer, down to the middle of my back, but I basically looked the same: <center><br><br><img src="http://www.eyeonsoaps.com/GH/mebefore.jpg"<br><br>And here's the new me:<br><br> <img src="http://www.eyeonsoaps.com/GH/KATRINAafter.jpg"></center>
So now I'm even more excited about going to the GH Fan Event next week because I'll look all purdy. :) |
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Eric went and got it on Saturday and it was wrapped up in a piece of typing paper with "Save for Rasbold" on it. "Pig in a blanket" ran through my head. I cut him a look and he knew it best not happen again. I'm walking tonight with Dr Phil, "Relationship Rescue" this time, I think. I was considering Christianne Northrup, but I'm still leaning toward Dr Phil. If I can find the mysteriously missing #3 tape to Life Strategies, that will be the winner because I didn't get to listen to all of it and it has the good stuff on it.
Josh went job hunting today to no avail. The Army is still a go, but his paperwork is slow about making it up the chain of command. It feels like everything is locked in stasis these days. Time to just sit tight and await the future. It reminds me of being on Guam during a typhoon when we had to just close up the storm shutters, drink hot soda, cook on Coleman stoves and pass a joint for a few days until the storm was past and the electricity came on. I sure would not have guessed where I'd be twenty-three years after that. The idea of weighing 220 and having six kids and being an at home mom with no independent means of support save the love and devotion, financial and otherwise, of my darling husband, would have sent me screaming into the night (and I probably would have been beaned in the head by a coconut going 80 mph in the process). Just shows how much we change over the years. Not to mention that when I was sitting out those storms, my future husband was just trading in his Pampers for Superman Underroos. I'd love to go back to Guam sometime. I left in 1981 and never made it back. It was a really, really great place back then, a tropical paradise that blew Hawaii away. I've heard that it's really gone downhill since I was there, which is a shame.
Inside Edition has come on and that's my sign to get busy cleaning house while these kiddies are sleeping at the same time. Gotta savor these precious moments with Pinesol.
Have a great evening!
 Current Mood:  peaceful |
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I used to be a real social butterfly. I had lots of people that I considered to be my friends, was always surrounded by activity, went out with "the girls," and had lots of fun. I talked on the phone throughout the day and always had things going on for the weekend. Somewhere in the neighborhood of the first divorce, when single parenthood of 4 young kids took hold and I was working three jobs to get by, I lost all that socializing. You just lose the angle of being much fun in the midst of all that. It didn't help that I had a giant chip on my shoulder from Paul bailing to the point that I was intolerable to be around (my poor kids). Life changed pretty abruptly and never really got back to where it was. That first divorce was in 92 and in the past 9 years, there has been some very detailed and painful self-evaluation, modification and evolution going on. It has taken me to this point, just getting ready to turn 40, where I'm finding that when it comes to the average person on the street, I'm developing a bad attitude. I've always been one of these silver lining people who try to not judge others based on their worst selves, always choosing to wonder instead about what might have brought them to the point to behave in such a way. My Gary Zukov-esque brotherhood of man energy expands in my chest and I find that I'm able to forgive them and wish them well. I've expounded many times in this journal about my random acts of senseless kindness approach where whenever I go out, I make a point to try and make at least one person's day better, whether with a smile, a flattering remark, a joke or a dollar when they are short at the cash register. I have practices this for a long time now and recent events have led me to believe that it just might be bullshit. The bloom is coming off my rose and I'm starting to feel the cool fingers of cynicism and judgmentalism grip at my insides. It has been a series of events that has brought me to this point where I am questioning the whole pushing of love and human support into the world in favor of squirreling myself away, emerging only for necessary provisions and entertainment.
First, some idiot has launched a series of attacks against me on the EOS OLTL message board, pushing the issue that I'm fat among other things. I guess that's all such a small mind had to work with. That shit doesn't really bother me, it's just a nuisance more than anything, but it really pains me that there are people out there, with whom I am forced to share the mantle of "human," who are that bitter and mean and nasty and evil. This person went to the OLTL and AMC boards posting really shitty comments about some of the actors with nothing productive to say at all, just bitching. When I called her on it and suggested that maybe there was something positive to say about the show as well, she figured the gauntlet was dropped and the attack was on. I don't get why people like that even bother coming to the site. There are a million other soap sites out there who are totally into relentlessly bashing the shows with no interest in the positive aspects. Why not just go with their own kind instead of harshing out the gig of people who want to have balanced and intelligent conversations, interlacing our bashing with some good stuff? I'm not so much pissed that they did this to me, but more that there are people out there like that. It besmirches the human race.
Next strike. I drove out to Wal-Mart, which is a ways from my house. It's one of my favorite stores and I could traipse it for hours. This time, I was just going for weed eater line and a little sprinkler. Got there and found that the Conair beard trimmer Eric wanted was on sale for $12.00 (sweet!), so I snagged that, got some Excedrin for Migraines for my Sweetie Daughter-In-Law who gets real brain busting headaches and lives in Canada where Excedrin for Migraines is not sold. Grabbed some potting soil for Delena to plant her late wild flowers and then the search began for the weed eater line for our weed eater, which Wal-Mart carries but did not have in stock. After about 20 minutes of digging, I finally found the replacement spool and was off. Only $5.95 on the box of spools, so that was great. The garden shop register was closed and the little greeter man said that it would reopen soon (guess the checker had to pee or something), so I walked alllll the way BACK down to the other end of the store for check out. Waited in a long-assed line and when the chick rang up the weed eater line, it was $15.95 (??!!) I was aghast and told her to take it off the ticket and I'd go back and get another one. Paid my $25, put the receipt in my purse and went back to gardening. I saw that the register was open again (hurray!), so I started looking at the packages that were just weed eater line off the spool. I asked one of the garden gnome guys if I could use any gauge of line and he said that it was specific to the machine. He called a conference with two of his little gnome friends and together they tried to figure out which line I should get. About 15 minutes after that, they decided on one, I got in line and paid for my crap, went to put my receipt in my purse, saw my other receipt in there with hoards of others and thought, "What a mess! I'm not going to add to that!" So I pulled the first receipt and put it in the bag with the other tiny bag and receipt and headed out the door. When I got to my car, I saw that there were two carts beside my car and, in my random acts of kindness mode (since I was not yet fully jaded, though jading was moments away), I took all three carts to the cart corral so that Johnny the Cart Wrangler wouldn't have to make an extra trip. Got in my car and split. I was literally about two minutes down the road when I was hit with the sudden realization that I DID NOT HAVE MY SHIT WITH ME!!! Holy cow!!! I whipped it around and hit all the right lights back, chanting and praying all the way for my stuff to still be in the cart where I had oh so stupidly left it after being such a nice guy. I brought up that I hadn't asked for anything in a long time, that I'd been doing a favor for some nameless, faceless cart jockey, that I'd been in a remote part of the parking lot, that there hadn't been many people around and sure as hell, you guessed it, all my stuff was just gone, in less than 5 minutes. I went to Customer Service, who had a good laugh and to the Courtesy Desk, who also joined in the merriment. I called Eric and cried at the pay phone, cursing all of humanity who would snake my shit. I hurried through the store and grabbed the things I could remember getting and left. As I drove, I realized that in such a tiny window of time, some jerk had watched me leave the stuff in the cart and then scurried over to steal it. I would think about starving people if it was food or clothing to keep somebody warm, but someone got weed eater line, Excedrin and a friggin ConAir beard trimmer! It's hard to wax altruistic about that. Not to mention, that because I had a moment of (not) clarity and put the friggin receipt IN THE BAG, they could walk right into the store, return it and get my money before Bank of America even processed by debit. Bastards.
THEN Eric and I were having an innocent conversation about the movie, The Buddy Holly Story, starring Gary Busey, which is fantastic. We'd just bought and watched it, him for the first time. He loved it and I loved it again. I then recommended that he really must see "Man in the Moon" about Andy Kauffman, that it was a really great movie and I thought he'd enjoy it muchly. He spat, "I don't want to see it." I asked him why, since his response was pretty abrupt. He said he didn't like Andy Kauffman. I asked him what he knew of Andy Kauffman and he said, "He's the guy from Taxi." I said, "Is that it? Is that all you've ever seen him in?" He said it was and I told him that Taxi was a really small part of what Kauffman had done and was, in fact, a part of his career that he sorely hated. I re-emphasized that it was a really good movie. He again snapped that he didn't want to see it, that the subject matter didn't interest him and that he didn't want to watch Andy Kauffman act. I was puzzled, so I said, "You do know that Andy Kauffman is dead, right? And that it's Jim Carrey playing Andy Kauffman in a bio-movie." He said that he didn't know and didn't really care, he just wasn't interested. This flashed me back to an incident with Paul where I suggested we go see "Forrest Gump." He started slamming the movie (hard) and went on about what I stupid movie it was. He had never seen it, mind you. He had determined this strictly from the previews. On the topic of my disappointment with people, I've found that it really pisses me off when people just slam their doors closed on something that they basically don't know anything about and refuse to even hear a conflicting opinion. Movies are a big part of my life and I love a broad spectrum of them. AS A RULE, I don't like chick movies, westerns, war movies or movies that have a cutesy kid involved. I also don't like movies set up to make me cry. I've done enough of that in my life, thank you, without having to do it again during my "entertainment." I will summarily exclude movies that are in the above categories unless someone I trust really pushes that I should give it a try. I had no interest in seeing Eric Brockovich because I don't care for most Julia Roberts movies and I don't care of chick flicks. Joe pushed it, I watched it and I liked it very much. Same for the movie, "How Stella Got Her Groove Back." I loved "Boys in Company C," "Uncommon Valor," and "The Dirty Dozen." I loved "The Cowboys," all Clint Eastwood westerns, "Maverick," "Wyatt Earp" and "Tombstone." I wasn't going to see "The Sixth Sense" or "Pay It Forward" because of the cutesy kid effect and Joey said, "Mom, you have GOT to go and they were just great." I'm not trying to come off as all high and mighty, but it sure seems to close off a lot of the world to blackball huge parts of life, just because you've made a sweeping, blanket judgment. I know that I don't care for much opera or rap music, but there are a few I've enjoyed of both. I have developed quite a sore spot for people who form heated, uneducated biases and refuse to be open to alternate thoughts. I find that I'm moving beyond feeling sorry for people who arbitrarily denounce a whole genre of anything, and I'm heading dead on into disdain for them. Worse yet, there are the people who act as though you are stupid for having an opinion other than theirs about a movie or music or book or show or whatever. How insecure do people have to get in order to have to go on the attack because you did or didn't like a movie that they saw or a song they heard? Anyway, enough of THAT rant…
THEN, the AC went out on my baby…my favorite ever car, my 1999 Dodge Intrepid, dark red, that I've had for 7 months, 2 weeks and 3 days. I love that car. The AC went out and would cost just at $1000 to be repaired. It cost about a buck and a quarter to fix anything on the VW bus (which is still gutted and unfixed after my famous I-80 break down), but the Intrepid is another story. It's been about 110 degree in Sacramento lately, so Eric has been a little fusser bear about tooling around town (he drives from site to site a lot in his work day) with no AC. Then on Tuesday, we went out to get Dylan's birthday presents and my door refused to open. We poked around and found that the door panel had slipped and was catching. Then an odd burning smell started to come up from under the hood and the brakes were grinding a bit. Eric proposed that we might need to trade in the car (??!!). Since I do the budget, he conferred with me as to what we could afford. Easy. He just lost all of his overtime due to the communications field having little to no work right now and that was our fun money. We are now down to enough to get by on, basically. So I told him NO down payment and no more than the $350 a month we were paying on the Intrepid. If they couldn't do that, come home and mop his brow along the way. I also sent him to the Dodge dealer in hopes of another Intrepid. He called me from the dealership, saying they were fussing about a down payment, fussing about $460 a month. I stuck to my guns, then relented and said that we could do $400, but we'd have to cut back on some things. He came home with a white 2001 Intrepid (I hate white cars, forgot to tell him that…they show dirt fiercely). The number are $560 a month, come up with $200 NOW and $560 on the first of August (not only rent payday - unlike my friendly car payment that hits on the 23rd - but also the week that we come home from our LA vacation, during which Eric has NOT worked and therefore, as a contractor, NOT gotten paid! Yikes!). Plus…long time readers had better hold onto your hats for this one…when he was cleaning out the car to transfer over the personal belongings to the new car, HE LEFT MY F**KING PIG ON THE VISOR!!! I could not EVEN believe that!! My PIG!! HE went beyond MESSING with my pig and ABANDONED my pig!! What the hell? So he called the dealership and they are supposed to be holding it (god knows what else they're doing to it) until he goes up on Saturday. He offered to go get it that night (it was midnight), but I realized I was being kind of emotional about a beanie baby which just happens to symbolize my total joy, so I told him I would wait. If anything happens to that pig, there will be hell-to-pay PLUS we are officially poor again. It was really nice to have a little money to play with here and there and if the communications field takes off again, there may even be overtime again. For the meantime, we are poor folks driving a nice car that shows dirt and has no PIG on the visor. [Private note to Georgia and Sandra: Although this was unforgivable, you must under no circumstances chastise Eric in any way or even mention the above or he will be mortified. He has been appropriately punished and that should be that.]
So those things have combined with other little incidents to make me want to hide in my house and only come out for groceries, my thrift shop therapy and an occasional movie or dinner out with Eric. If you need me, I'll be out building a new fence around the property. It's really sad that all of you cool people who read my journal aren't here so we could start a cool people compound and not have to hang with the idiots who seem to be the status quo OUT THERE. The lunatics really have taken over the asylum.Current Music: Don Henley - Youre Rockin The Boat |
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As usual, real world is keeping me from journaling as much as I would like and need to. The biggest obstacles are these guys:
Dylan is actually a very sweet, well-behaved little boy (he's on the right), but Nathan is proving to be hell on wheels! His latest is to pull out his dresser drawers and climb up them to get to the top. Unfortunately, he pulls them out too far and falls. I'm still looking for a way to secure them so that he can't get them open. Home Depot's drawer locks are not even a hindrance for him. I need some super industrial strength dead bolts. As a result, he's covered with bruises and if he actually ever gets around to breaking anything on his body, I'll be not journaling because there are no computers in Pentonville or Statesville or whatever facility they ship suspected child abusers off to. He's quite an adventurer and there's not a room in the house in which he's safe. The room he shares with Dylan has a bed, a toy box and the Dresser of Death. Even then, he finds way to hurt himself. I'm going to need a smaller co-pay on this kid, I can tell right now.
My walks with Dr Phil have not been as frequent as I would like due to time constraints, but I'll be making them more of a priority this week if all goes well. I really miss them. I finished Life Strategies again and this time, I'll be catching up on Relationship Rescue again. Even though we don't need to particularly be rescued, the book is so good for providing clarity on the nature of relationships, the partnerships we negotiate and how to improve intimacy. Eric and I have what I consider to be a closer relationship than most couples I've known, but there is always something here and there than can be tweaked into a better place, so I like to listen to the book a couple of times a year to stay on the right track.
One of the themes that Phil talk about in Life Strategies is the premise that you have to "name it to claim it," the "it" being your goal in life, where you want to be, what you want to do, etc. I was really surprised by how different my life is now from when I first read the book back in 1998. When I heard his words again, talking about naming it and claiming it, stepping up to bat and saying, "It's MY turn, it's MY time," I remembered with startling clarity how much that had terrified me the first time around. To add pressure to the situation, without even knowing that I was reading the book, Eric had, shortly before, reacted with complete disdain when he asked what my goals for my life were and I replied that I didn't really have any personal goals. I wanted my children to grow up healthy and happy. I wanted him to have a good life and be happy with me as his wife. He pressed on ask what would be required for me to be happy and I said that if those things were so, I'd be happy. There are a few things wrong with this. For starters, the goals are very vague. I mean, what is happy? Another problem is that the goals are all for other people, none for me personally. In my head at the time, this seemed like a great way to go. I felt I was being very altruistic by wanting other people to be happy. I thought that by generalizing, I was releasing myself from the possibility of being disappointed if specifics did not come my way. At the time, I could never have imagined what I would see in retrospect. Those goals were a cop out that kept me safe from failure. For the most part, I was creating my happiness based on the actions to others and if they did not come through, it wasn't my fault that I was unhappy. These goals required very nearly no contribution from me. If Eric didn't feel he was happy with me as a wife, it wouldn't be my fault, it would be his for not loving me enough. If my kids did not have a happy life, it was their fault for not taking advantage of the opportunities that came their way. None of these thought were in my conscious mind at the time, but I can see in hindsight how I protected myself.
As I was reading the book, it became clear to me that I didn't have a clue what I wanted in my life and I was terrified to try and think of anything. It had been so long since I had put my wants into words that I couldn't find them any more. If Eric and I were going out to dinner, he always knew that his question, "Where do you want to eat?" would be answered with, "I don't know, what are you in the mood for?" Then we would "decide together" where to go, on the surface at least, with the reality being that I managed to narrow down exactly where he wanted to go and there we'd go. If someone asked me what I wanted for my birthday or Christmas, I'd shyly say that they didn't have to get me anything. I really couldn't give a name to anything I wanted, but I was damned disappointed when I didn't get it. Reading this book put me on notice that my act needed some serious polishing. I'd spent so much time in a state of reaction that I'd forgotten how to take action. Circumstances and the actions, needs, wants or opinions of others had determined my behavior for so long that I had no clue how to initiate my own activity or an original thought. I was generous with my time and energy to a fault, always working hard to sacrifice myself to give my kids and husband what they wanted. All of this was, of course, a big old martyr complex that I had to set up because the only self worth I could muster up was in giving someone I loved what they wanted. I totally based my value on my ability to fulfill the wishes of others. Under the indirect scrutiny of Dr Phil, I had to take a good long look at the fact that I was going nowhere. *I* had gotten lost somewhere along the way. My first move, as the over-analyzing Virgo, was to try and figure out how I had gotten to this point. I began studying everything my parents had done, everything my first husband had done, everything anyone I had been wronged by had done. Then I came to one comment in the book that stopped my dead in my tracks. "Analysis is paralysis." I was doing it again, but this time, I was using Phil himself as a distraction and he was having none of that. If I sat and analyzed this for a good long time to figure how where it came from, I was protected from moving forward. I read that it didn't really matter how I'd gotten here, here was where I was and here was where I had to work from. If I need to get to Boise, Idaho and I'm in Tampa, Florida, it doesn't matter if I flew, walked, took a bus, train, bike or rickshaw to Tampa, I still have to start my journey there. It doesn't even matter WHY I went to Tampa, if I have to go to Boise, Tampa is where I have to start and if I sit and ponder why I'm in Tampa and how I got there, I may never make it to Boise. I can think about the particulars once I'm in Boise or on the way, but I'd better get moving if Boise is where I have to be. Anyway, enough about cross country travel. I was in one place and I needed to get to another, fast. I cried. I cried a lot for a long time and it was a really hard week. I had seldom felt so helpless in my life. I had to build me, or at least get to know me. I started out simply, beginning with the restaurant issue. I went slowly. I told myself that for one month, when Eric asked me where I wanted to eat, I'd narrow it down to three places and let him pick. After that month, I'd pick one as my preference right away. It worked and I never looked back. I can now say, "I'm not really in the mood for Mexican food," and not feel the oppressive guilt I once would have felt on the off chance that Eric was wanting to go to Luis'. When I listened to the book this time, I felt so much more on track and clearheaded than last time. I decided that I wanted a venue in which I could express myself through written word and to be in the company of like minded, intelligent people. After a number of seemingly unrelated steps, I got to my position as Soap Diva at Soap Opera Central and that brought me to creating Eye on Soap, where I have fulfilled my goal and enjoy the results daily. I wanted to stop working and be a stay at home mom, giving my kids the parental attention my older three didn't get. It was a wish I had harbored since the older boys were tiny and I had to feel my heart and uterus rip themselves free every time I went out the door to work, leaving them with a variety of faceless sitters until Joe was old enough to baby sit while on independent study. Even then, when I felt totally secure with his ability to care for them, I wanted to be with my babies. I pitched the idea to Eric with some degree of trepidation, since it would reduce our income by about 70%. To my surprise, he was into it and was willing to make some pretty drastic concessions to make it happen. That was when I began to understand that stepping forward to claim something did not always result in being slapped down or told no. Now, I've been at home with the kids for three years and love it, despite the insanity of it sometimes. I want a new computer desk. I want some RAM and an external CD burner for my computer. I want a futon for the back room when Josh is gone (if he's ever gone) and matching cushion for the two ratty papa san chairs I have. I want a new Tupperware dish scraper (looks like this:
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and I want to find my Topsy Tail pony tail flipper which seems to have disappeared yet again. I want a bottle of Everafter cologne by Avon which smells like wonderful, sweet old books and sandalwood, but isn't made any more, dammit. I want some cooler looking clothes. I want to get home to visit my mother and up to Canada to see Joe, both within the next year. I don't even blink when I rattle those things off any more because after a lot of reconditioning, I've learned that it's OK to want things. It's OK to spend money to get them and it's OK to let others occasionally sacrifice for me to get something I want. Like Phil says, "It's my time, it's my turn." Not every time, mind you, but sometimes.
I wonder how many other people are stuck where I was to the point that they don't even realize that they've stopped knowing how to want things. The sad thing is that if you aren't clear and specific about what you want, you not only won't know how to go about getting it, you won't have a clue how to recognize it when it's within reach! How else will you grab it? *sigh* I want to go to Europe. When? How? What do you want to do when you get there? Make it attainable. Make it real. Set a time limit and then go for it. Who is telling you no? Is it your checkbook? Your partner? Yourself? Do you accept that no as valid just because or is it true? Have you checked out all the possibilities? Do you want to drive a nice new car? Is it the car you are wanting or is it really the financial security that it represents? Be clear, take aim and then go get it. Learn how to take a chance, how to want things again and you'll be surprised at how often the Universe says, "yes" instead of "no."
(stepping out of the pulpit) |
| » I'm getting eager for July! |
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At long last, NonSoapy! I didn't feel like I was ever going to get back and even now, I'm writing amidst helping kiddies every 12 seconds. I sure do love'em, but most days it's next to impossible to do anything else, then the busy site work takes priority and soon, I'm not able to write the things I really want to write or purge my soul as I need and try to get some degree of linear thought going. When I'm into kids 24/7 my head turns into this weird, cartoon world of chatter and damage control and reactionary madness to the point that I can't transition out to big people land when I need to. They wake me up sometime between 5-6am, then tag team me on naps (if there is an overlap, I run around like mad trying to get at least *some* housework done before the next one wakes up) and finally get to sleep around 9pm. Nathan will wake up once around 2-3am and eventually go back to sleep. By the time the house is fairly decent and I've gotten to spend a few minutes with Eric, I'm falling into bed at 11pm exhausted, only to get up at 5-6am again the next day. Eric has been getting up with the kids on Sundays (he has to be up by 6:45 to get ready for work each morning) and letting me sleep in for a while and that's been great. I think if I could get a few 8-9 hour nights of sleep under my belt, I'd be up to 100% again.
I'm SO excited; one present excitement and one future excitement. The present excitement is that Nathan, my 21-month-old son, just brought in a five piece Postman Pat puzzle (for those who do not know, Postman Pat is an icon of British children's shows, a claymation masterpiece from way back on historical par with Lambchop and Gumby. "Postman Pat! Postman Pat! Postman Pat and his black and white cat!"), dumped it in the floor (Nathan dumping something is no rare event in and of itself) and then proceeded to work the puzzle! It was bizarre to watch his chubby little fingers manipulating those pieces until they would slide into place. Sometimes, I lose sight of him being an analytical, intelligent being and only see him as emotion and whirlwind activity. Seeing him intensely concentrating on a left-brain activity was a fairly intense experience. None of my other kids have done anything like this so early, so I'm hopeful that all of his "busy" activity is the sign of a genius who is bored by a baby life. Meanwhile, the genius' mom is worn out!
The other great excitement is that it's a mere four weeks until my vacation (Love that Connie Francis - V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N!!! In the summer sun!) in L damn A! I haven't been there in eight very long years! For me, LA is the perfect place that I love to visit but wouldn't want to live there. I was in Victorville (north-east of LA, just above San Bernardino and just south of Barstow - OH! Movie quote, "We were just south of Barstow, then the drugs kicked in.") for just over 8 years and visited the LA area pretty often. It was called going "down the hill," the "hill" being the Cajon Pass through the San Gabriel Mountains. There is so much to love about LA and the surrounding area. I won't bore you with Katrina's version of Fodor's Guide to LA, but I do have my vacation all laid out. We are staying with Eric's gram, who is just a great lady. She's turning 70 the week after we are there and is meeting her four daughters and several grandchildren in Vegas for the weekend to celebrate. We'd love to go, but Vegas and our kids would just not mix and it happens that the GH Fan Luncheon falls the weekend before, so we'll go down 4 days or so before the Luncheon, do the touristy thing by day (to keep the kids out of Grams' hair), then visit with her at night. It's a 6 hour drive from here, so we'll get there in 8 hours. (I'll be eating Dramamine like popcorn, you'd better know that) I like to leave early, like around 8am after a big breakfast, so we'll leave around 10am. That puts us in LA around 6pm, just in time to spend time with gram, get the kids to sleep, then nip down to Gram's Jacuzzi for a late night spa cuddle. The next day is one of my favorite days: Disneyland. I've been there a million times. I've gone lots with the older boys and Paul and I used to go every year alone for our anniversary. That was a really fun time. (I didn't realize there were SHOPS there for the longest time, I was so focused on kids and rides. : Þ When Joe, Delena, Dylan and I went to Victorville to visit friends when Dylan was 3 months old, we went to Disneyland and Delena, who was 5, refused to go on any rides that had water. Another thing you don't notice until you focus on it is how many Disneyland rides have water. That was a kind of bummer trip because she was being such a butt-lick, but this time will be different. Dylan is TOTALLY fired up for it. He's never been that he'd remember, but he talks about seeing Pirates and Ghosts and Mickey Mouse every hour of every day. I found an old Disneyland promotional video and he's been watching it obsessively. He has almost no concept of time passage, so "four weeks" means nothing to him and every day he thinks we're going. My friend, Trish, who lives in the Victorville area, is going to meet us there and do Diz with us. That will be great fun. More Jacuzzi fun afterward.
Next day, we are going to do The Bodhi Tree, ONLY the world's FINEST metaphysical store with every incense, stone, book and Tarot deck in the world PLUS (this is the big drum roll) a USED book store attached to it. This place will set me back almost as much as Disneyland, I assure you. Eric has never been and he'll love it. We've never done Disneyland together either (he was in Saudi Arabia last time), so that is even more fun. I'd love to make it to Long Beach to Eye of the Cat, another great metaphysical store, but that's a bit of a drive. I'd like to do a few other touristy things. Friday is when things get fun for me personally. Friday night, we're having our Eye On Soaps Staff Bash when all of the gals who are going to the Luncheon, me, Tracey, Abbie, Katie, Leigh and Stephanie, are going to get together at a restaurant (a bar! It must have a bar!), meet for the first time and get outrageously silly. I'm looking forward to that as much as the Luncheon OR Disneyland! Saturday is Nancy Lee Grahn's Ice Cream Social (mmmm Ice Cream rrrrhhhggghhhh - Homer Simpson drool) where Constance Towers will also be and then the Real Andrews' event is that night. Then more Jacuzzi fun.
The next day, almost the whole day, is the GH Luncheon and I am so jazzed for this! I'll be there with my digital camera and a ton of disks, so you guys know you're going to see many, many pics.
We're going to take off to go back home the next day. Can't wait! I'm not only going to get out of this house, but out of this town! With the Dramamine, I won't get sick, so it should be great! One month away!
Jun. 27th, 2001 @ 01:57 pm
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| » Lived through Tahoe, barely |
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Good God! I didn't think I was ever going to get any computer time this week! I'm far behind on all of my site work and there's no light at the end of this tunnel, pallies! The boys are being super busy and by the time I sit down to the computer at night, I'm falling asleep at the keyboard. My e-mail is jacked up, so if anyone has sent me anything at an address other than Katrina@eyeonsoaps.com, I didn't get it yet.
Backing up to the weekend, Tahoe was OK for vacationing, but it is the worst for gambling. From now on, it's Reno all the way. I did learn fifteen valuable points on this trip:
1) Just because a place is 30-60 minutes closer to you by mileage, does not mean you are going to arrive 30-60 minutes early.
2) If, at noon, you give yourself $60 to play quarter and nickel slots and give your husband $60 to play the tables and your $80 of emergency money "in case something goes wrong," you will still have a huge bucket of change when your husband returns penniless (including having lost the emergency money) twenty minutes later.
3). When that happens, you will give up at least half of your funds so that husband can sit beside you and play slots. Score: Her - $30, Him - $170
4). IF you do not tell husband that the $80 "in case something goes wrong" was assuming that the something that goes wrong would be that he would blow the money and that you have already take his greed and fool-heartiness into account and secretly factored the money in as gone, you can milk the guilt for DAYS and stay on budget. Clink, cheers!
5). I think it's possible that the casinos are not set up for me to win money and actually hope that I don't.
6). Don't play slots until after dark when drunken people have been feeding them all day.
7). No matter how much you play, you will never, never have the lights, bells and sirens go off from one of your quarters (see #5).
8). Tahoe has more silicon in its collective breasts than Bill Gates has ever had used in his name.
9). There is a good reason why the buffet at Caesar's costs less than the buffet at Harrah's. Go to Harrah's. Pay the money.
10). Breathing in cheap perfume and cigarette smoke nonstop for 8 hours will give you a migraine.
11). When you are carsick, not only do trips seem hours longer than they actually are, but even subtle movements of the vehicle are groan-worthy.
12). The faster you drive, the more abrupt the movements of the vehicle will be.
13). A man really can swear all the way down a mountain if the drivers on a weaving, two lane highway are not going as fast as he would like.
14). To a man who really, really loves you, "Honey, I'm dyin' here and the movements of the car are making be want to puke. Please take it easy on the curves" translates out to "Please drive as fast as you can to get me home. Never mind my moaning and groaning. It's just my little way of saying, 'way to go!'" "F*cking slow DOWN" translates the exact same way.
15). Leaning back the car seat only helps marginally.
I also have a bonus pointer: If your husband decides to quit smoking, it is essential, and I do mean essential, that this NOT transpire until you are safely tucked away at a health spa in the Swiss Alps or Aspen or some equally remote, inaccessible place. Tell him to call you when it's done. Under no circumstances should you attempt to help, encourage, interact with, speak to or otherwise engage the victim. Any attempts to do so will result in the end of the marriage after the wife has personally purchased a carton of his favorite cigarettes and jammed them indiscriminately up, down and into every orifice in his body and lighting them with a blowtorch while screaming, "Smoke, SMOKE, damn you!" Moody? Edgy? Irritable? If severe PMS is a grain of sand, this is the Sahara.
Jun. 19th, 2001 @ 11:11 am
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| » Grrrrrr |
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Well, it doesn't happen often, but I'm actually pissed off today. I used to happen more and there were times in my life when I lived in a constant state of anger and resentment. For many months, it has hit either very seldom or just a quick flash. I'll explain briefly.
I don't like it when people throw their spiritual crap my way, so I'll keep mine to a minimum and only include it because it pertains to the subject matter. On my spiritual path, we follow the agricultural seasons of the year to manifest long term goals in our lives. We believe that it takes a few months to integrate big changes into our lives, so each December, when the spark of light returns to the sky (read: the days get longer), we decide what we will "plant" in our lives in the coming year. It can be a new home, new car, something within ourselves, etc. Until Spring, we plot and plan and listen to the voice within to decide whether this is actually what we need or if we should redirect to something else. At Spring Equinox, we literally plant a bean for every goal we have set for the year. As the bean grows and we tend it (usually in a peat pot on a window sill, to be transplanted as it gets bigger), we also focus our energy on the goal we have set. It will then "harvest" in the fall between August 1st and October 31st, the harvest time of the agricultural year when crops are brought in and stored away for the coming Winter. Anyhoo, this year, I decided I would fix a lot of things in my life and planted 5 beans (feelin' a little like Jack here): lean, strong and healthy body; more positive and productive interaction with my kids; a cleaner, more organized house; better communication and understanding of one another between me and Eric and the ability to help my children along the path that they most need to trod. Planted my beans and they came up very quickly and vibrantly. I was surprised at how fast the little buggers sprouted. To show you how a redirect works, about three weeks after I planted my beans, they were growing like mad and I was terribly excited because the goals all meant a great deal to me. I was having success on the body issue and the other goals seemed to be falling into place nicely. Then, I went to the bathroom. Doesn't sound like much, but when I came out, nicely relieved, I saw that Nathan had climbed from the couch to the entertainment center up the built in shelves, BYPASSED ERIC'S PIDDLY LITTLE BEANS and grabbed mine, then ripped them not only out of the pot and soil, but had torn the big, glorious plants to shreds. He smiled happily at me when he saw me and held up a piece of bean intestines for my approval. I. Couldn't. Speak. That was the first thing that happened.
THEN, I think I remember telling you about my pig. Eric and I were driving once and he used a line from Platoon that I had never heard (never saw the movie). We had come to a four way stop and the guy to the right couldn't make up his mind whether he was going to go or sit there. Eric got flustered and said, "Dammit, this guy is messin' with my pig!" I guess the line from Platoon is "Hey man, don't mess with my pig" (referring to his gun). This cracked me up and sent us on a tangent about pigs that has lasted for over a year now. Whenever someone or something is disheartening us or irritating us, they/it are messing with our pigs. We have elaborated on the theme and got into, "How's your pig today?" "He's happy and rolling in the mud" or "He's got a full trough and is munching gleefully" or "The kid down the block is poking him with a stick" or "Someone left the gate open and my pig has run away." The pig became the symbol of our joy. That led to me collecting interesting and unique pigs. I have a very, very cool jade pig that Karen (my pal who started EOS with me) sent me. I have a cute little stuffed pig on my desk, a very pretty ceramic pig on my dresser and I used to have a really bitchin' pig creamer (one of the ones like a cow creamer where the cow throws up the milk into your coffee) but hurricane Nathan threw something at it and it broke into a bajillion pieces. I also have the most adorable little pig, my first pig, in fact, who is a beanie pig that rides in my car between the visor and the roof of the car and peeks out at me. He has been up there since we bought the car in April and prior to that, lived on the dash of my (fickle) 69 VW bus. A couple of days after the bean incident, I went out to go somewhere with Eric and found *gasp!!* that my pig was IN THE FLOOR of the CAR and had SOMEONE'S F**KING HOOFPRINTS ALL OVER IT!!!! To say the least, I was aghast. Not only was by bean crop destroyed by a fate WORSE than locusts, but SOMEONE WAS MESSIN' WITH MY PIG!! I questioned Eric, keeper of the car, about it and got the "I dunno" blank look response. Had I not been cuddling my pig at the time, I probably would have beaten the hell out of him with it.
Those were the first two things. Having become quite depressed over them, I decided to make a joy candle to brighten up my life. I melted down a lot of red candles that were bits and pieces and poured the wax into a little crock container. I then jammed three little candles into the semi-formed wax to become the wicks. I was thrilled with my accomplishment and spent a good amount of time purging my angst and filling myself with pure joy while holding that candle. When it was solid, the next day, I lit the candle and it burned beautifully. It also smelled like cinnamon, which is very invigorating from an aromatherapy standpoint. Perfect. Eric came home a bit later while I was in the back room with kids and my joy candle was burning merrily on the entertainment center (which is only about a 5' tall job, not a huge assembly, so it burned on top and out of harm's way - the Hurricane was with me, so no worries there, for the candle, at least). I came out of the back room because I'd heard Eric come in and walked into the living room just as Eric was cussing the candle and putting it out. He was complaining rather loudly that the candle had become an inferno and had to be put out or it would burn the house down. There was nothing singed or darkened in the area, so I'm not sure how inferno it got. All I knew is that he was not only squelching out my joy candle (whose effects I was really enjoying!), but BITCHING about it and claiming it would hurt the family. (I apologize for the recap on this, since most of it I already covered when it happened, but it's for the benefit of those who may have missed it and not have a clue what I'm talking about.)
Being the every analyzing Virgo that I am, I went to bed on it. Did a bed in for a couple of days and refused to move until something good happened. I emerged from it (nothing good happened, I just realized that no one noticed I wasn't around) and decided I had received quite a redirect on the bean planting and since it was still Spring, I did a replanting over top of the old beans' corpses and simply planted "Joy," deciding to embrace the joy that was inside me and fan the flame to make it grow.
The planting worked like a charm and my entire focus was redirected from a really dark place to a very joyful place. That was in late March and over the next month or so, I really, really felt my eyes and heart opening to the joy around me. I felt luminous for weeks and even when things were rough, I could still feel the foundation of joy beneath and let it support me while I experienced whatever challenges were afoot. The Joy bean grew really fast and once my Joy was in place, the bean was done and died.
Although I have felt a few brief slippages of it and caught myself before I went full force into the pool of eternal despair again. Today has been the first time that I have really felt the fall. I can't really go back and pick a point where it all started to slip. I think that mostly, I am just really, really tired. I've felt it to the extreme this week. On Tuesday, Eric came home for work and said, "You are really kid-stressed. I'll take them for the rest of the night after dinner and you do whatever you want to do. I could think of a million things I could do. Go for my walk with Dr Phil, which I haven't done in days. Take a hot bath, which has lost its appeal for some reason. Don't know if it's this house and the bright blue, uncomfortable bathtub or what, but when I take a bath any more, I feel like I'm going to come out of my own skin until I'm out of the tub. I could do my nails, which look like a crack whore's. I could read. I could do Tarot readings to get some clarity. I could watch a movie alone. I could go my FAVORITE thrift shop. Of all the fun things I could do, I ended up going to my bedroom, collapsing on the bed and sleeping for two hours. Night before last, I was sleeping when, then at 2am, Nathan climbed into our bed for his cuddle and quick nurse like he does every night. Eric and I sleep with our babies for the first year, then they go to a sleeping bag on the floor for the next year and at 2, go into their own room. As he was crawling up the end of our bed, he lost his footing and slipped and fell, hard. I scooped him up in the dark and cuddled and nursed him back to sleep, but he was really restless, so I put me between him and Eric and held him closely. I'll be damned if around 2:45 he didn't roll off the bed and whack his head on the nightstand. I grabbed him up again, put him back in the bed and nursed him back to sleep. About 3am, Eric woke up to go pee and when he turned on the bathroom light, I could see that what I thought was stray breast milk was blood and lots of it. (??!!) Checking him out, I saw he had a good whack to the head, sustained in one of the falls and a little divot in his head about the size of a pencil eraser that was oozing a bit. Pretty horrific in the near dark. I got him and me cleaned up, then Eric wanted to put him on the floor again so he (Eric) could sleep. I wasn't good with that, having a kid there with a head injury, so I took him out to the couch and he slept on my tummy so I could feel if he went all cold and stiff. His pulse was good and his breathing was normal. When I woke him up, he was pretty cognizant, but drowsy and I took that to be because it was 3am. He slept well, I didn't and was beat all day yesterday. Nathan was perfectly fine, just had a bit of a headache. He's great now, I'm wiped out.
Last night, Eric had an opportunity to work from 10-12pm and pull in some overtime. He had the option not to do it, but wanted to get the money for our vacation kitty. I had trouble sleeping without him there (he left around 9:30) and waited for him to come home so I could finally crash with ease. He finally called around 1:30 and said that he was on the front porch (he had his cell phone) and that the door was locked. Evidently, Josh had locked it when he got up in the night (he's a little security freak). When I opened the door, this big wave of tobacco hit and Eric said he'd been home since about 12:30, but had sat out front and smoked his pipe and thought deep thoughts and decompressed for a while. Meanwhile, I'm inside struggling to sleep. I let that go and asked him what time he wanted to get up. Regular time, 6:30. Fine. Needless to say, he was just too doggone tired to get up and go to work this morning. Mind you, *I* still had to get up and get Delena ready for school and take care of wakey kids, but he got to call his work and tell them he'd be in late and sleep. That makes me really, really angry. If I was a bigger person or a more rested one, I would be pleased for him and understand that each role in life comes with its challenges and its benefits. The small, angry part of me wants him to get up at 6:30 when he said he would just because he said he would. I want him to be responsible and go to work whether he's tired or not, just because he has to. I don't want him to have the option to just decide he's too tired and lay in bed and make one phone call to his boss to make that OK. I am actually angry with him for having choices that I don't.
I know this is still part of my self-mastery and I have to look inside myself and find out what I'm really upset about. It was so nice of him to offer to take the kids the other night. He is a very, very good husband and father. I am Jeanie. That's it. I'm Jeanie from Ferris Bueller's Day Off. (rent it if you've never seen it) I'm not angry with him for being able to sleep in, I'm angry that I can't. I'm not angry with him for having choices, I'm angry because I don't or don't perceive that I do. When I tried to talk to Eric about it as he was leaving, his sympathy pretty much extended to, "Sucks to be you." That didn't help much. I asked him if he would ever call into work so *I* could sleep in because I was too tired to get up and he looked at me like I was stupid and said, "No, that's ridiculous." He chastised me for bugging him about it and then went to work. He hasn't had much to say all day, when we usually talk all through the day. I know they are busy at MCI, so I'm not going to worry much about it. Tonight should be better. I need to get out of my self-pity mode before he gets home, shake it off and get back to my more generous nature. I'm sure sleep will help and maybe a good smack in the head.
I'm hoping the boys will nap so I can as well, but I have a feeling that Gillian, despite all denials, is going to get whacked today and I want to watch it. Maybe I can at least do another mini-bed-in for the day. I have to get groceries tonight because Eric and I are going to take a mini-honeymoon to Lake Tahoe tomorrow as his Father's Day surprise. Another good thing about living in California is that you aren't far from much of anything fun.
Ooops. Crashing sounds. Gotta go.
Jun. 15th, 2001 @ 12:52 pm
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| » *whew* |
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Soon, the day will be over. I'm waiting for the hot water to heat up so I can finally take a shower. I am the one to get up with kiddies at the crack of dawn and Eric gets straight out of bed, into the shower, then out the door to work in about 30 minutes' time. I usually take a shower when he gets home from work, but he had to work late and didn't get home until around 9:30. After getting laundry finished and kids resettled, I went in to take my shower, only to find that while Nathan was putzing around in the garage with me while I did laundry, he (again) turned the water heater off. A few loads of laundry later and there was no hot water. So I figure I can write a few lines while it heats, then you'd better believe I'm going to sleep.
WHAT a day. The boys were really busy, well, correction, Nathan was really busy. Dyl seems to just get caught up in the momentum. I got loads and loads of clothes done and with no dryer vent (the dog, who was outside, stuck its head in the dryer exhaust and bit the silver spaceman tube that carries the hot air outside and pulled it outside to be promptly mangled, so now the hot air just bursts loose into the garage), it must have been over 90 degrees in there. But the mound of laundry is done and now down to two wet mounds to be dried tomorrow. Loads and loads are put away, thank goodness.
This is Delena's last week of school and I can't believe she pulled through the full half year. I don't remember if I ever told you what we did about her teacher apprehension for next year. I spoke with the principal (her name is Ziggy. is that so cute? tee hee hee - rolling my eyes) and wasn't altogether thrilled with her response. I told her Delena thrived best with a cuddly, loving teacher who was not fried, bitter and defeated. I told her that I understood that at the end of the school year, most teachers are fried and beaten and I understood why, but that I needed someone for whom the bloom of teaching was not off the rose. I am not sure how metaphoric Ziggy was feeling, but she did give me the names of two teachers who are supposedly what she called "touchy feely" people. I didn't tell her that "touchy feely" made me think of someone's nasty Uncle Roy. I thought it was best to just let that one go. From there, I put Delena on task. I sent her to the office, where she got the room numbers of the teachers and she then went to their rooms after school, introduced herself and interviewed them to see why she should pick them as her teacher for next year. She found one that she seems really into and we have requested her with an alternate. I hope next year goes better than this year or we are home schooling. I'm sick of the stupid fund-raisers, the horrible pecking order of evil public school kids, the stupid dioramas and oral reports. So is Delena. I hate turning my kid over to some unknown entity for the majority of her waking hours. I'm very hopeful for this teacher and have everything crossed. Today was a folk dancing program and Delena did everything but jam knitting needles in her eyes to keep from having to go to school. I managed to get her out the door by telling her I'd go endure the program with her (She and I both detest school programs like this one. Interesting ones are cool, but we both have an aversion to dumb dancing programs, me since my own horrid grade school existence. Scorpios and Virgos are speakers, not dancers, for God sake.) She hated it, but she went through it like a champ and got big, big hugs afterward. Only three more days left and I can sleep in a tad in the mornings and don't have to fight her out the door any more.
I had a really nasty experience over the weekend doing what should have been great fun: buying stuff. Actually, it was (not) returning stuff, as it turned out. But first, I have to back up a bit. Last Thursday, Eric and I went to a hotshot metaphysical store in town (for all of you Sac-town folk, that'd be PLANET EARTH RISING!!!) and I got two Tarot card decks I'd been wanting very badly. They were the kind (just in case you happen to be Tarot savvy) with the book and the deck and were $30 a hit, which is an outrageously expensive amount for me to spend on myself but I figured I'd splurge. Got to the restaurant we were eating at afterwards and starting looking at them. The first deck, the Sacred Circle deck, was really, really cool. Very Pagany with computer art using real people. Loved it immediately. The second one, despite cool pics on the sample cards on the box, was really lame and fruity. Checked out the receipt and it said right on it, "No cash refunds, store credit cheerfully extended on returns within 30 days if you are not satisfied." OK. So Sunday, a scant 3 days after buying them, I went in to pick up a new pendant and a crystal ball stand Eric wanted with our impending store credit. There were two women behind the counter, one about my age and one probably in her 50's. The younger one came over to help us and when Eric told her the deal, she said that they did not do returns on Tarot cards that had been opened. He asked her how you were supposed to know if you liked them or not until you opened them since there were none on display in the store. She just kept repeating that they did not do returns. I asked if it was posted anywhere in the store. She pointed to a little sign on the register that said they did not do returns on cd's, magazines or books. I pointed out that it did not mention Tarot cards. She said they were considered books. I looked at her like she was an idiot and said, "Then why are they in a separate section and not with the books." She accepted the signal that I thought she was an idiot and her voice started getting all high and reedy and intense. "Tarot cards are considered books." I told her she didn't have to get upset, that I was just questioning a policy of the store that was misleading and gave customers the wrong idea. She said, "Well, when I feel all this negative energy coming toward me..." I scoffed at her and suggested that it was her job to explain and logically defend store policy to customers without getting all worked up about it, that energy or not, this was still a retail establishment and had a hand in customer service. She kept going on about "the energy blah blah blah." I tried one last time to get her to understand that when you pay $30 for something and are unable to preview it, that you need to be warned if it's not able to be returned. She didn't get it, I didn't want to put any more time and "energy" into this simpering little imbecilic idiot, and so I wrote a check for Eric's crystal ball holder (could not justify to myself spending more money on a pendant for me this payday, which is already rocky) and was getting ready to leave when the simperer called over the older woman and started explaining the deal. I told her, "Look, I paid for the item, any further discussion about the Tarot cards and the shoddy customer service will be discussed with the owner. Don't bother." The older woman said, "There's a book in the Tarot set, so it is considered a book." I picked up a nearby deck of cards with no book and said, "So these are returnable then?" and they both said, "No, Tarot cards are not returnable because they are considered to be books." I blinked and asked, "OK, and Who's on first base?" They did not get my little Abbott and Costello reference, so Eric and I left and as we left, I heard the younger one say, "Oh God, I'm so glad you were here to help me" to the older one. Idiots. So now I'm stuck with this deck that I'm sure will grow on me with time. I am also reaffirmed of the fact that I really, really hate stupid people. No pity, no tolerance, just sheer disdain. I mean, it's not like we were belligerent or anything. We were questioning a policy, VERY politely, and she just went off her casters. More and more, I'm finding the idea of living on my mountain top in the woods and only emerging for the pleasures of this world (grocery shopping, movies, Krispy Kreme donuts and thrift stores) to be a seductive idea. I feel like I don't fit in here any more and want to just hide in my house and peck on my computer. I expect too much from people. I expect them to rise above their little fragile worlds and insecurities and just TALK to me instead of getting all worked up. The simperer is in desperate need of some Dr Phil therapy, that's for sure. I am becoming intolerant and judgmental in my old age and the older I get, the less gracious I've become. It's as though I feel like I'm wasting my time if I have to mother someone through a simple conversation. Maybe that's it. Maybe I've used up all my nurturing, understanding and mothering on my kiddies and just don't have any left for the rest of the world. So you guys, just be nurturing, understanding and mothering to me if I get too bitchy. Meanwhile, I'm going to go help the lady at the store with that last nail. She's not doing such a good job of securing herself to the cross.
God, I hope that water is hot by now.
Don't worry. I'm not totally loopy yet. I'm just having a wave of intellectual discrimination and intolerance.
Jun. 12th, 2001 @ 10:43 pm
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That part I said before? About the little boys being good? Forget it, I must have been smoking crack or something. My mistake. To show the old "fool me once, shame on you...fool me twice, shame on me" axiom again, I offer you three words again, "Minty Fresh Hair." Also, I don't know if I ever mentioned it or not, but in this house, matches are spinning wheels. Remember in Sleeping Beauty where the kind banished spinning wheels because of the curse on Sleeping Beauty that said when she turned 18, she's prick her finger on a spindle and die/sleep for 100 years? Nathan eats the heads off of matches. He probably has sulfur burns all down his throat and into his belly. He is an expert at finding matches, even though I banished them long ago. (We are a lighters only home now). No matter how many I find and dump, there always comes a day in the week when I walk in on him shoving little naked-headed matches behind his back. He has to have a stash somewhere, but I'm damned if I can find them. He is very resourceful (and fast) for a person not even two just yet. I'm really going to have to steel up my spine and get a supply of riot gear before this boy starts to talk. He and Dylan will be the Pinky and the Brain of Sacramento when they can communicate beyond that weird, psychic brother stuff. I've never seen two brothers who are closer than these two and I'm really grateful for that. It will serve them well. It will be my undoing. (smile) Back into the trenches!!
Jun. 8th, 2001 @ 03:06 pm
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