I ran into a friend of mine at the drug store, on Saturday — seriously, nearly knocked her over right in front of the feminine products aisle — we haven't seen each other since, well, the last days of school and spent the next few minutes, you know, catching up.
"Enjoying a nice, quiet summer, I hope?"
I continued to babble on and on, trying to distract her from noticing the fact that I had NOT shaved my legs in two weeks (you're welcome!) by saying something about my two most favorite days of the year being the last day of school AND the first day of school!
"Did you hear that my mother died?
Aaaaand then, my brain screeched to a halt.
"Oh…no…I am SO sorry."
As, I lied (like a cheap rug) and pretended that I hadn't heard of the poor woman's loss.
My husband, Garth (not his real name) met me at the train station on Sunday and, after taking a quick look at my swollen legs, scaly arms, blistering hands and blotchy neck (you're welcome!) believing that my recent poison ivy infection had somehow morphed into leprosy (ditto) he drove me straight to the doctor's office.
I mean, really, wrangling 2,000+ registered attendees (not to mention, the 11-ty billion others already living in/visiting NYC) something's bound to go wrong (coming from someone, whose attempts at throwing a dinner party, for 6, the last 16 years, has failed, miserably, more often than not) and, well, someone's destined to get their feelings hurt (see previous parenthesis) or, break something (ditto) right?
No worries, SaveHer'10 is here (i.e. alternate title: Riding in an Ambulance with BusyMom!)
So, tonight, I'm sitting here, at the kitchen table…ALL…BY…MYSELF…and listening to absolutely nothing…except, for the sounds of my husband Garth (not his real name) making dinner.
"Stir fry sound good, for you?"
Sure, I'm a little hesitant about leaving the kids (with my parents, I mean) still, they are getting older and basically take care of themselves (my kids, I mean) especially, if there's cable and a microwave nearby (oh, I kid, sort of) and my oldest girls are really GREAT at holding down the fort, in an emergency.
"Do you mind if I head over to Kohls?"
This week, I spent 90 minutes at Dress Barn on Monday and all I got was a stinkin' scarf (cute, but it still sorta stinks that I couldn't find anything else) to show for it.
"Okay, but I have to tell you something."
Which is really code for, "This way, I don't have to look at you," in teen text.
"But, I don't want to tell you over the phone."
Aw, crap.
Long story, short (you're welcome) here's the gyst of what happened…in bullet points:
Hope (she's 9) has been asking me, every other day, to tell her about where babies came from
At that very moment, on each of those days, I've had exactly 5 minutes, to spare
Hope got tired of waiting
Hope asked her brother, Glen (he's 11) where babies came from
Aaaaand, he told her.
Because, I already had "the talk" with Glen — thanks a lot, Garth (not your real name!) — and, well, the boy was doing me a favor.
The girls punished him, anyway.
"What he say?"
Bulleted version:
The husband lays on top of the wife
He shoots this fish-like thing inside her
It buries itself into one of the wife's eggs
The egg grows inside the wife and turns into a baby
Aaaaand, he was right…mostly.
"Put him on the phone."
So, I un-punished Glen, scolded Holly and Heather (seriously, who's the mommy?) and promised to have "the talk" with Hope…aaaaaafter, I get back.
Morale of the Story: Kohls RAWKS, cell phones are NOT the devil and my husband's stir fry tastes even better…cold…pregnant…or, SO NOT!!!
In the meantime, look for me at BlogHer — I'll be the tall, dork-ish one texting her kids — trying to convince my youngest two that Headless Mom, you know, really does have a head and my oldest two that her blog name has absolutely NOTHING to do with sex!
I still remember that fateful day, when my husband Garth (not his real name) and I nervously sat down at the conference table, distracting the lawyer long enough to hand us each styrofoam cups of stale coffee and, between the 3 of us, was the only one able to hold a pen steady enough to sign the papers.
"I think I'm gonna throw up!"
I was a few weeks pregnant with our first daughter (commuting, while under the influence of gestation, sucks wet poodle, btw!) and, well, WE WERE BUYING OUR FIRST HOUSE!
"You're young, yet, there's still time."
The lawyer, who seemed very well-versed in the matter, insisted that investing in a starter home was the way to go and that our timing could NOT have been better.
"As long as you move before the kid starts kindergarten!"
17 years, 4 kids, 3 cats, 2 refinances and 1 doofus-dawg, later (give or take a couple of goldfish) both my husband and I have FINALLY accepted the fact that we are, you know, totally screwed.
"Wow, it's a lot bigger than I thought!"
If I had a dollar for each time a repairman has said that to me, well, I'd be able to park my car in the garage, by now.
"We get that, a lot."
Not to mention, folks who are surprised to find that our house, you know, looks A LOT different…on the inside.
"Doing some work, I see."
It's not like we have this thing for
dry wall (although, after a while, you DO sorta get used it) but, after
17 years, 4 kids, 3 cats, etc., etc., other stuff has taken priority
(like, you know, food) and, well, there's ALWAYS something, right?
"How long have you been renovating?"
This particular repairman, however, seemed to be genuinely interested.
"Let's see, um, about 17 years."
The poor guy stopped laughing as soon as he realized that I was, you know, serious.
"Uh-huh, so, okay, I'm done here, buh-bye."
Granted, it's not the smallest house on the block (my 103 year-old next door neighbor has owned that title for, well, over 100 years, now) and, with a few of gallons of paint (give or take a couple of barrels) or, a VERY LARGE construction crew, looking for some pro bono work, who knows?
"Um, did you back-flush the pool, today?"
Because, you see, these days, I am the Queen of Denial AND Supreme Back-flusher!
"Why?"
Then, I remembered….that I forgot…to turn the shut-off valve, you know, back on.
"You burned up the motor!"
Long story, short (you're welcome!) that same day, we also ended up taking my car into the shop (it was either that, or never be able to make a left turn, ever again!) and that little bit of money I just got paid (because, you know, I do work, sometimes) uh-huh, I'm sending one of the Pep Boys on a lovely vacation…this summer.
"You owe your father a cup of coffee."
Apparently, my dad made a big stink about paying for the new pump in the pool store and, well, I owed the man a piece of cake AND dinner for the next 2 weeks, too.
"Why are you ALL wet?"
Apparently, the pump is a whole LOT stronger than our old one, the pressure split the out-take hose and being doused with chlorinated water, while under the influence of coffee (and cake) makes you do this:
What? Melisa thought it was funny when I told her this same EXACT story on Monday (STILL don't have my car, sucks donkey balls, btw!) or, maybe she was just humoring me, either way.
[snort]
Still, it's OUR home, the kids seem to like it and I wouldn't trade this house, or the love I felt for my husband, at that particular moment, for all the philanthropically-inclined contractors in the world.
[wipes eyes]
Okay, maybe Ty Pennington (relax, my husband already knows and he's okay with it) or one of the HGTV Dream Homes (I've been trying to win, since 2001, DAMMIT!) but, let's not open that OLD wound, okay?
When ALL else #fails (i.e., car in shop, pool filter seizes, refrigerator burns up, or ALL of the above, just sayin') break out the hose and just fuhgehtaboutit!!!
Hope is a word that I use often and not just because it happens to be my youngest daughter's name (a.k.a. mommy's little ticket into heaven) but, after years of exhaustive study (i.e. stupid insomnia!) I've come to the conclusion that, for me, the benefits of remaining hopeful far outweigh the risks of considering an alternate ending.
Then, life throws a curve ball and knocks those rose-colored glassed right off of my face and, well, maybe if I had remembered to wear my crash helmet…
"The doctors found something."
…but, this is NOT about me.
"Why did you wait to tell me?"
It's about watching the people I love the most, get smacked in the soft-squishy areas, time and time again, where your body's immediate reaction is to double over and puke…
"What could you have done?"
…and the best I could do is, you know, hold the bucket.
"But, I could have been there."
Then again, I could think of worse things.
"Wow, would you look at that!"
Which is what I was doing (thinking of worse things, I mean) when she (and, I can't tell you exactly who) pointed at the sky and, well, it took my breath away.
"Looks like fingers reaching out from heaven, doesn't it?"
Okay, but I was thinking more like strands of cotton candy.
"Thank you."
It was when she poked me that I realized, you know, she wasn't talking to the sky.
"For what?"
Then again, she might as well have been.
"For just…you know…letting me be…right here…with you guys."
And so, I remain, yours truly and totally filled with hope and perhaps just a dash of anxiety, for good measure.
"Man, would you look at the guns on that guy!!!"
Because, I may (or may not) have used that expression in front of my 9 year-old, before (especially, when watching this chef create the most impossible dinners) and, well, what DOES he have to do with all this?
"Wow, yeah, you want me to ask him if he's married?"
Absolutely nothing…and everything…because, hope is also contagious.
"Yep, you ARE your mother's daughter."
Aaaand, I'm totally keeping her…I mean, it…d'oh…because, I also believe that Hope has this way of making us ALL smile, inspite of ourselves.
"But, you are ALREADY married…mommy…der!"
Aaaand, I'm sticking to it…to her…d'oh…you know what I mean, right?
If you have a kid graduating/promoting/stressing over her hair for the 8th grade formal/and/or, celebrating a birthday, this week…then, you know I meant the Pepto Bismol, right?
I took this picture of Hope and Glen (my two youngest) in 2005 — the year my parents moved out of the house I grew up in — and, already, my son was very protective of his baby sister.
"I don't want her to fall in da wah-der!"
Didn't matter that my father's koi pond was only about ankle-deep; in true Thompson fashion, my son is a born worrier (he gets that from his father) and, well, his concern for the physical and emotional well-being of everyone around him was sort of, you know, cute.
Last night, however, turned chronic.
"I can't make ANYONE happy."
5 years have passed (I know, wasn't it just yesterday I was blogging about his peeing on a tree?) and, although the stories are pretty much the same (only, with less pee) I find myself feeling as if we BOTH haven't learned a gosh-darned thing.
"I don't understand?"
You see, my 11 year-old son is entering middle school next year and long story short (you're welcome!) let's just say the boy is feeling a little stressed.
"My teacher, you and dad, are ALL pushing me!"
Okay, A LOT STRESSED.
"To do what?"
Seriously, the kid was blowing snot and — although, my husband and I had already had a talk with his teacher and discussed her concerns over his penchant for day dreaming — he's been carrying and A/B average and I was at a loss as to why he was SO upset.
"I'm going to fail."
Oh. I know this one. In fact, 5 years ago, during my middle girl's parent-teacher conference, I was the ONLY parent to cheer when her 3rd grade teacher told me that she had failed her 1st math test.
"It's about time the kid learns to fail, something!"
Her teacher agreed, btw.
"All your father and I care about is that you do your best."
Apparently, my son's teacher feels differently.
"She said I was going to get absolutely lost in Middle School!"
Look, I get it. I couldn't do what she does — teach, someone else's kid, I mean — however, I know my son and — although, I think, having our kids attend K-3, switch to another school for grades 4 and 5, and then again to the middle school, our school system hasn't helped to make it ANY easier — this time, I believe the change will do him good.
"I think you're going to be just fine."
For the next 3 years, anyway.
"Just ask Holly and Heather!"
My 2 oldest daughters have already given him a run down of all the cool teachers and the, you know, not so cool teachers he'll probably get…in middle school.
"What are you doing, Hope?"
My youngest daughter (she's 8) ran out of the room to grab a pen and piece of paper.
"I want to write a letter to the principal of my new school…"
She's graduating 3rd grade next month and is changing schools, too, OY!
"…and I want to tell her that I want Holly's and Heather's teachers, ONLY!"
If ONLY life was that easy, right?
"Don't worry, Hopey, I already told her AND the nurse that my youngest sister is coming!"
You see, some things NEVER change AND my son happens to know that his baby sister is a frequent flyer!
One of the ladies at the gym watches The Good Wife and keeps insisting that I would probably love it, too.
"I dunno."
You see, besides feeling as if I couldn't possibly relate to anything using the words "good" and "wife" in the same sentence ("big" and "dork," probably) I also have commitment issues with television.
"What time is it on?"
By the time I get home from work, eat and get the kids settled for the night (i.e. get them to at least admit that, you know, it IS bedtime) it's too late.
"Did you watch, last night?"
[slaps forehead]
"D'oh, I forgot it was on."
Actually, I was probably too busy inspecting the inside of my eyelids and/or fighting Doofus-Dawg for the couch.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but…"
This week, however, I learned that work won't be as much of an issue, anymore. In fact, my schedule is about to lighten up, considerably, from 6 months ago.
"…the owner has decided to close up shop, at the end of the month."
Everyone in my family has made sacrifices (trust me, they will ALL tell you, I'm sure) and, well, it will be nice NOT to have to worry about feeling guilty, sort of.
"I'm really, really, sorry."
Long story, short (you're welcome) yeah, sure, the money helped (stupid braces, dumb car insurance, silly college fund) but, my working and being away from my house, 4 days, every week, was putting a real strain on my house.
"If only I had known, ahead of time."
So, in a way, losing this job is really [gulp] a good thing.
"I certainly wouldn't have offered you the hours!"
Having to call the ladies I recently hired (like, just 2 or 3 weeks ago) and tell them that, you know, they are now, un-hired…not so much.
"I'm really, really, sorry."
In fact, way too much.
"It's not your fault."
I am (or, was) the manager (and I use the term very, very loosely) I sorta knew his business wasn't doing very well. Still, I had such GREAT plans and worked really, really hard to keep his customers and employees happy.
"I feel like SUCH an a**hole…"
Man, un-hiring people really, really, does suck. By Tuesday night, I was SO done. I poured myself a glass of wine (i.e. turned the tap on the box) kicked the dog off the couch (sorry, Doofie) and just stared at the television.
"I like you…I didn't start off liking you."
Aaaand, then the part of the The Good Wife came on (see above clip) which made me think of an earlier conversation I had, with a longtime employee, who took pleasure in pointing out the stuff…I did wrong.
"One of the machines is in the wrong place."
Didn't matter if I re-arranged the ENTIRE gym (which, you're supposed to, once a month) without anyone's help and that she could have corrected it (her own self) right?
"You're not the a**hole, here, in fact, we ALL know you worked your a** off, Liz."
Look, I'm not comparing myself to The Good Wife — that character is a lawyer and I am, well, you know — however, working lots of hours, being away from her kids and having to work EXTRA hard, feeling as if she has to prove herself, to EVERYONE, because she's a mom.
[bites lower lip]
Yeah, I felt her pain – still do – sort of.
"Shouldn't HE be making these calls?"
My poor husband, Garth [not his real name] what a good guy he is, really.
"Why are YOU apologizing?"
I mean, I already quit trying to be the best wife, or the perfect mother, years ago and he's seems to be okay with it.
"Because, I am a good manager…DAMMIT!"
Or, at least, I was — now, at least I can keep on pretending to be a good blogger/writer/whatever, right?
[sound of crickets chirping]
Sorry, I just can't seem to quit YOU…Internets…so, I guess you better start getting used to, you know, being stuck with me.