Holy crap, guys! Our various plumbing issues have gone down the tube, pun TOTALLY intended.
Umm, I guess that didn't really make sense the way I wanted it to, and all because I was so hell-bent on using silly puns to make you all giggle, or at least chortle a bit. I am so mature.
So, what I meant was that our plumbing has been fixed, and we can once again wash our dirty laundry, bathe, and not worry about slime-infested water pouring all over our basement floor every time. Awesome.
As I write this, I am sitting in a warm puddle of extreme nausea, brought on by I-don't-know-what-but-I-want-to-maim-it. I even took anti-emetics, and all they did was make me so drowsy I can barel
Hey! I'm back! Nope, didn't nap. Just kind of fell over in a complete stupor, drool sliding out of the corner of my forever-open mouth...I still feel like crap, but no one really cares, so I'll stop talking about it. Instead, I'll just curl up in the fetal position and think about how the world hates me. Thanks a lot.
I was going to make a camping stew (which I make every year --- YAWN!) today, but I couldn't even bear the thought of smelling it as it cooked slowly all day long. Yeah, I'm THAT nauseated. And no, I'm not pregnant. I just look that way.
Speaking of the gym, which I am now trying to get to every single day (because I am old and need to get into shape before I die; and because I have physical requirements for paramedic school, so I'd better get my ass in gear) ... I got my fat measured, and almost had a cardiac arrest when the trainer showed me my results. Guys, I'm made up of almost 40% fat. Yeah, as in 50 pounds of pure bovine, roly-poly, thickset, elephantine corpulence. Uggggh. What.The.Hell, perimenopause? Must you assault me with this insult IN ADDITION TO the continuous hot flashes, body sweats and accompanying odour, drowning fatigue and tumultuous emotions? What are you, a family member???? And yes, that deserved four question marks. Here's another one -- ? -- because four clearly weren't enough.
Great, and now you know how much I weigh as well. Well, lucky for me, I'm 6 feet 10 inches tall, so I'm actually very sleek and skinny, except for the tire around my paunch. Ahem.
So, as you can probably figure from this rambling, nonsensical post, things are slowly coming together for our camping trip. The kids are getting more excited; the dog knows something's up, so he follows me EVERYWHERE and when I stop too suddenly, his cold, wet nose goes up my rectum; Mr. Handsome is working very very hard to get everything done at work before we're suppposed to leave; and I'm going to bed.
We're in the midst of getting ready for our annual Camping Extravaganza, and what an extravaganza it will be! And when I say "we", I mean me.
This year, for the first time ever, the kids are each inviting a friend along, mostly as offerings to the bears that seem to always find our campsite. Every.Single.Year.
I actually developed the whole "Bring a Friend" idea earlier this year, as I worried and thought about this year's camping trip and what I was pretty sure would happen if we didn't change things. Last year, Em had reached a point in her camping experience whereby she no longer wanted to have anything to do with smoke, tents, dirt or bears. If the bear looked like Orlando Bloom, however, she'd be happy. Whatever.
So, this week is all about getting ready, as in, getting out sleeping bags, buying food, organizing everything, washing clothes, packing clothes, packing, packing, packing. Oh, and did I mention our pipes are clogged and we can't use the washing machine or the dishwasher? Yeah, didn't think so.
I guess that means many things are at a standstill, which would probably be the case anyway because I'm quite lazy at the best of times.
Not only that, but I opened the washing machine before the plumber arrived, and I almost passed out from the reek that emanated. I mean, it was enough to kill a zombie. Or ten. And I don't really know why, because the towels that I had been washing when the world fell apart in our basement had just been in the water for a couple of days maximum. But the smell...OH THE SMELL.
So, the plumber came, he saw and he conquered, unplugging the whoozits in the basement, fixing a washing machine pipe leak, and then unclogging our upstairs bathtub, which ended up having approximately two years' worth of hair in its belly. When the plumber pulled the disgusting wad of grossness out, I thought it was actually two wet rats mating, because that's how big and disgusting it was.
And then the plumber went on ranting about how this is obviously all women's fault because no one else would have hair this long, and I argued with him, stating that Mr. Handsome was losing his hair and did he not know that EVERYTHING THAT GOES WRONG IS MR. HANDSOME'S FAULT? Clearly, he didn't.
Anyway, I have a lot of packing and organizing to do. Or not.
Poor Gryphon is back inoven mitts socks again. His little paws are all itchy and raw, and he keeps licking them, which only makes them worse, but he doesn't know that because he's a dog. Don't judge.
So, last night, he slept with socks on his feet, but I didn't take a picture of it so that I could post it here (because if this site isn't for me to make fun of the people and things I love, than I don't know what it's for) because I was laid up in bed AGAIN with a bad headache, so instead, I'll give you an idea of what I mean by posting an older picture from last year, when Gryphon wore oven mitts.
And today, I'm off to the pet store to buy him his very own cone, so that we can make even more fun of him. Yes, my life is THAT boring. Don't be jealous.
In our house, the laundry system has gone through a medley of reformations and regurgitations, only to once again become the antithesis of a system in the end. This has gone on from the moment Mr. Handsome and I moved in together in our other lifetime, aka B.C. (Before Children).
Little did I know -- being the rose-coloured glasses, totally-too-optimistic-kind-of-person (some people would call that crazy) -- that once the spawn came along, the laundry situation would get just that much worse.
I actually love doing laundry, although you wouldn't know it by looking at the results. Because, although my intentions are pure, my results are anything but.
Please click on images to make larger. I said CLICK, NOT stroke.
However, by the time I'm finished sorting all the greens and blues from the reds, and the whites from the blacks and purples, I decide it's time to put the chicken carcass on to boil, or maybe it's time to stare at the pile of clothing in my bedroom and shake my head before heading back out and trying to forget about it.
By then, of course, I've also forgotten all about the laundry that's sitting by the washing machine.
And there it sits, for a week, thinking very forlorn and angry thoughts.
What's worse is when I actually manage to put a load in the washing machine, and then forget about it for a week.
Which is why I don't do the family's laundry anymore. Obviously.
So, Mr. Handsome said he could try his hand at it. As it was, he already did his own laundry because apparently he does a better job than anyone else. Clearly, the PhD was worth it.
The problem with Mr. Handsome doing anyone else's laundry is this:
Clearly, a huge problem is a-brewin', because, as everyone knows, when you mix colours in the wash, they all turn grey. Or brown. Or grey brown. In other words, they look like shit.
No matter how many times I have told him, Mr. Handsome scoffs. He scoffs at me, and he scoffs at you. Because, guys, his clothes go into the wash in one big bungload, and they come out looking awesome. WTF, laundry detergent people?! Has this been a game all along?!
Regardless, I refused to allow Mr. Handsome to touch my clothing, simply because on more than one occasion, I've found bleach spots, or strange holes, or things missing. Not acceptable.
Strangely, however, his clothing always seems to come out sparkly clean, as if he had just gotten them from the dry cleaner's.
I call shenanigans on this, guys. There is something amiss here, and I'm going to get to the bottom of it.
My hormonal ebbs and flows are slowly, but surely, killing me.
If it's not a major migraine that lasts for what seems half a century, then it's uterine cramps that remind me why I will never have another child of my own, and when it's not one of those two things, my emotions are screaming inside my head and it feels like my brain is eating itself.
And, what makes all this even better is that -- YES!! -- my perimenopausal decrepitude might last 10 years! And then I will shrivel up and die. Awesome.
Here's but one example of my utter irrationality during this time in my life. I am sure Mr. Handsome could throw out about 3.478 more examples just off the top of his pointy head, but he's still busy trying to rip the duct tape off his mouth.
We were supposed to go to the movies on Wednesday, and I got all excited because we don't just go to the movies every day or anything, and I was also really looking forward to buying popcorn and putting loads of cholesterol-laden "butter" on it, and then belching uncontrollably in Mr. Handsome's face, making him swear, but in a loving way.
Instead, I sat on the couch watching a stupid poker game while Mr. Handsome sat beside me, snoring. As in asleep. As in, holding on tightly to the remote, so that I couldn't even change the channel.
So, instead of waking him up with a swift kick to the epiglottis, I started my pity party. I went upstairs, crawled into bed, and read one of the "Pretty Little Liars" books (I think I'm on the third book, but it's really hard to tell seeing as they're all pretty much the same damn thing over and over and over and...), and then I had a big ugly cry and went to sleep. I didn't even bid my husband good night, but instead, blamed him for the lack of excitement in my week.
Yes, I admit it. I can be a big loser. The biggest.
But really, I had no control over the whole emotional disaster that unfolded in my head. It just happened. Kind of like when you're out walking the dog in the middle of the woods, and you suddenly have to have a dump, and there's no waiting and "holding it in" because the prairie dog is comin' outta that hole whether you like it or not. Yeah, THAT kind of lack of control.
So, such has been my life over the past while. I'm fine, and then, not so fine. I'm sure this too shall pass, but I'm really hoping the passage happens much sooner than later.
On a brighter note, as you read this, I'm on my way to pick up Dee, who's been at camp an hour away for the past week. I've been missing the little man, so it will be great to see him again. It will be even better to get him into the shower, since I'm pretty sure he'll have maybe had one the entire week (and that's a big maybe).
And on an even brighter note, I am now officially registered for the paramedic program in college. I got my final mark for my chemistry course (one of the pre-requisites I needed in order to get into the program), and I passed, guys! I did even better than pass! I got 87%, which is about 37% better than I thought I might do. So, I guess I have a bit of chemical know-how after all. Will wonders never cease?
Maybe I should get a degree in chemistry? After becoming a paramedic, that is.
With both our children gone yet again to camp for the week, Mr. Handsome and I were at a loss as to what to do with ourselves. Our nest was empty, our birds had flown.
When the children were younger, Mr. Handsome and I would be gleeful when they'd go off to camp, because suddenly we were free to go out without having to get a babysitter. It was a treat, to be sure, because we rarely went out. As most of you know, with young kids, it's just hard.
However, now, the kids are both old enough that they can be left alone for days on end hours, which is wonderful in one sense, but in another sense, it's so commonplace now that when they're actually gone to camp, Mr. Handsome and I would rather just stay home and enjoy the absolute peace in the house instead of go out someplace and have a bowl of chicken soup. In fact, we end up going to bed by 9:30 every night and sleeping. Not an exaggeration.
The most excitement we've had recently is Mr. Handsome's craving for coconut cream pie. Who knows from where these strange, but wonderful, ideas originate?! I don't think he's ever craved coconut cream pie before, but then again, he recently also changed his underwear, so there you go. Miracles will obviously never cease.
With both kids away, our mealtime rituals (aka actually having sitdown meals as opposed to eating whenever and whatever) melt away. For instance, on Monday, our first day of childless bliss, I had the following food for the day:
* the remnants of a bag of plain chips
* the remnants of a bag of party mix
* three chocolate croissants
* two cinnamon croissants
Even I'm disgusted with myself, and that almost never happens.
So, once Mr. Handsome came home from work on Monday, his coconut cream pie craving became more than a craving: it turned into a veritable need, a compulsion. He came home, sat down on the couch, and said, "We have to find a coconut cream pie."
Just like that, we were on a quest. A quest for coconut cream pie, forever after known as The Quest.
I immediately went on the Interwebs, but to no avail. There was no pie to be had, unless you wanted to drop into a restaurant for a simple piece of pie, but that would not do for Mr. Handsome. He needed the whole pie. And now.
I looked and looked, but the internet did not provide. We felt like we had just been bull-whipped by the Internet, which had so totally provided for us in the past, from awesome Ebay purchases to instant medical remedies and cheap Viagra.
We were stunned. Nay, beyond stunned we were, because we did not know what to do.
And then, Mr. Handsome had a thought. He had a memory twinge. This is, in itself, a miracle because Mr. Handsome's brain switch often goes to the "off" position as soon as he leaves work.
He remembered this restaurant that sold whole pies. He ordered me to go back on to the interwebs and find this restaurant. And I did as I was bade. And then Mr. Handsome called the restaurant and asked, in a rather squeaky and unusual voice, if they had any of the "Quest Pie", the golden orb, the pie of the gods. The Coconut Cream Pie.
And guess what, guys!! THEY DID!!
Only problem was, this restaurant is all the way on the other side of the city. As in, far enough away that Mr. Handsome usually nixes anything which requires driving this distance. However, this time, there was no hesitation when he demanded I get on some pants that actually covered my butt cheeks and accompany him to retrieve the Pie.
I did as I was told and off we drove, literally into the sunset (although, as I write this, I realize the sun was setting all the way over in the west, and not in the east. Minor problem. Use your imagination.), and actually made it to the restaurant in only 12 minutes, which I'm pretty sure is probably an all-time record for Mr. Handsome, since he normally drives as fast as an old man wearing a hat. And what I mean by that is, not fast. Not fast at all.
I stayed in the car to keep Gryphon company while Mr. Handsome entered the restaurant to retrieve the golden orb ... the treasure ... The Pie.
We got the amazing god pie home and Mr. Handsome proceeded to cut us each a healthy slice. We tucked into it gladly, oohing and aaahing continually as we tasted its oh so creamy goodness, it heavenly coconut flavour. I then commented that we'd be lucky if the pie lasted 24 hours. Mr. Handsome smirked at the thought. Surely it would last at least two days.
So Dee has left for camp for a week. And Em leaves Monday for a week to yet another camp. Yes, again. Clearly, I try my hardest to see the kids as little as possible during the summer.
This means I have almost 5 days of absolute freedom, whereby I can lie in my own sloth, pig out on nothing but Nanaimo bars, Cheetos, and margaritas. I might shower, but chances are better that I won't.
I couldn't upload the images, so you'll have to link to them. I'm extremely sorry for this, but it's par for the course when you put me in a room with a computer.
So, just click on the following links and you'll get the picture. Pun totally intended, because I've got nothing else for y'all today, folks. I'm spent, as in, my brain has fallen apart and I am now walking around zombie-like and full of anger because just as I finished the last of my requirements on Thursday to get into the paramedic program, I got the Period From Hell, and a wicked eye infection, which has now spread to both eyes and requires me to put antibiotic drops into my eyeballs thrice per day, and squint in pain the rest of the time.
I also feel all left out because, once again, I'm not going to BlogHer, and I kind of wanted to go this year, mostly because it's in New York City, but I knew right from the start that I wouldn't be going because I've been everywhere this year, including New York City, and just don't have the money for a week more of decadence. Plus, I was kind of busy up until ... now. Hence, I sit at home with mongo cramps and bleeding eyes.
On a positive note, because that's what I'm all about, my kids are going away to camp again, so I get five days of peace and doing whatever the hell I like all day long, which means watching a lot of bad tv, reading a lot of bad books, and maybe even having a shower.
And now, the piece de resistance: this is why I win Mother of The Year Award. I hope these links work, because I'm thinking they won't, and then everyone will be, like, "What the hell is wrong with that woman?! This is obviously why she can't get a job."
If this isn't easy to understand, it's understandable. I was under the influence of many pills, including codeine, Tylenol and other things I found lying around the house.In this image, I am telling off the children, and making them take the dog for a walk.
Those purply things are storm clouds. The kids are supposed to look scared, but they don't. This is after I told them to walk the dog, and they are now walking the dog, but there is thunder and nasty rumblings going on, but onward they go, because their mother told them to.
Now they look like they just crapped their pants, but they're just scared. And rightly so, because the heavens above opened up around them and seemingly swallowed them whole. The poor children didn't know what hit them. Figuratively speaking, of course. Maybe.
Apparently, my alert daughter knew how to change the image type on my pictures so that I could actually upload them instead of sending you through the internet atmosphere of nowhereland to find them, only to be terribly disappointed because there was all this build-up and such, and all you got at the end was some half-assed picture of my kids being scared half to death. Does it make you feel better to know that these pictures took me A VERY LONG TIME to create? Me neither.
I am surrounded by love. It is wrapped around me like a warm blanket, no gaps to let in the cold.
I had this realization just now, as I ambled back down the stairs to get the phone and a bag of cookies before returning to bed. Don't judge.
The contentment I felt thinking this was as close as I think I've ever been to the purity, the clarity of it all.
Mr. Handsome and Em are coming home late today, after three days in Toronto visiting family, leaving Dee and I here to fend for ourselves. Dee's been battling a stomach virus for awhile, but is on the mend, although he wasn't well enough to take the trip to Toronto, so he had to stick it out with me instead.
Although he is 12 years old and no longer a little child (as he reminds me almost daily), he is still my little boy, and always will be.
The weekend home with him was decidedly uneventful, with him slowly returning to eating food other than rice, applesauce, broth, and yogurt. Moody, yes. But nothing out of the ordinary.
However, Sunday night, he ended up in my bed, reading a French book about a unicorn. And I knew he would want to stay in bed with me until morning, because that is what always happens when Mr. Handsome goes out of town. It's a security thing. And, when he put the book away, took off his glasses, and put his head down on the pillow, I asked him what he thought he was doing, and told him he needed to go to his own bed. This was more of an affectionate rub than anything else. And he knew it.
Although Mr. Handsome and I really like our own space, having Dee beside me last night was quite heavenly. I secretly hoped he would end up in my bed, because I too miss that feeling of having a warm body beside me, someone who cares about me, loves me unconditionally, and deeply.
And when I made my way downstairs after Dee had fallen asleep, to retrieve the cookies and the phone, I noticed Gryphon lying at the foot of the stairs, fast asleep. Gryphon never sleeps there. His placement at the foot of the stairs spoke volumes. He wanted to be with us, but knew his place was downstairs. The closest he could get to us was at the bottom of the stairs, so that is where he lay. I knelt down beside him and pet his head, and he rubbed his face on the rug. Love.
Em made it clear as well when, before she left with her dad on Saturday morning, she came to me and told me in a soft voice that she wished I was also going to Toronto. "I do too, sweetie, but Dee isn't well," I told her, which I knew she knew, but I also knew she needed to hear it again. She tends to come into my room at night as she's going to bed, and sit on the bed, and talks. And I love it. Despite my fatigue at that time, I love listening to her. She is my girl, my only girl, and I love that she talks to me, that she wants to talk to me.
And Mr. Handsome, who sighs heavily anytime I ask him if he loves me (the never-ending game we play), calls me at least twice a day from the office, just to say hi, just to see how I'm feeling, what I'm doing. His days are busy, busier than mine have been for a long time, but he always takes the time.
I am completely wrapped in love, and it makes me smile.
My brain remains cluttered with chemical equations and laws, and I'm beginning to look like the frazzled professor we've all had at one time or another in university: unbrushed hair, no shower for three-plus days, and no change of clothing. Here I wait for my chemistry exam that seems to have disappeared into the ether (little chemistry joke there), somewhere between here and Toronto, hoping the time comes sooner rather than later to write the damn thing so I can finally begin to forget all those useless things I've been jamming into my poor little brain over the last five weeks, and refill it with things that actually make sense, like what flavour ice cream is best for a dinner alone, or how does one get away with only brushing one's teeth once a week but look like one brushes three times a day.
Spending the weekend at home alone with Dee, who's had a stomach bug that just likes it a bit too much inside his intestines to leave (Mr. Handsome and Em have gone to Toronto to meet our newest addition to the family). And for the past couple of days, I've been feeling a little nauseated as well, which probably means I will either (a) be really really sick when I finally do end up writing my exam, or (b) I will be fine up until I write the exam, and then I will fall apart into a million little nauseated pieces of puke. Either way, I lose.
And in other places on the Internet that I found to be worthy of mention (and I also wish I was them, kind of):
* This guy is beyond hilarious. He is stupendous, amazingly clever, and also handsome. I haven't seem them, but I bet he even has a good set of pecs. Or maybe a peck of pecs. Either way, it's all good.
I am a 46-year-old mom of two amazing children and wife to a wonderful and very patient man, and a lucky friend to many. I am a Realtor and a writer, but have also been a journalist, editor, and daycare provider. Not every day is a good day, but I sure try to keep smiling.