Archive for May, 2009

Spring cleaning kicked my butt.

Friday, May 29th, 2009

And the odd part? I’m not even a proponent of seasonal cleaning. This isn’t to say I’m opposed to cleaning as a general rule. I just don’t like having my urge to purge dictated by the seasons, the twittering birds or the buds on the trees.

But I guess there’s some kind of deep instinctive desire to clear the nest of winter detritus, because lawd - I’ve been a cleaning machine. I’ve had no power to fight against it. It has absorbed me for the past several weeks.

And now? Now my body has indicated that it’s not amused. This spring cleaning thing is just not funny anymore. My hands are cut up from gardening, my spine is killing me from same (and all the other back-effort-required labour I’ve done around the house).

I’ve also decided it’s time for a spring cleaning of my person. Nothing profound, but I’ve definitely put away some winter weight and it’s time to do something about it.

I loathe talking about weight, to be honest. I dislike making promises to the world about my health. I am not a fan of organized weight loss. I am this way because I went down the diet route and it nearly drove me mad. It seems to me that anything that forces you to think more about food is something that’s destined to fail.

So, I’m just cutting back a bit. I’m not eating treats presented to me simply because they’re treats. I’m not having extra evening snacks (aside from the mandatory popcorn).

And most importantly, I’m getting back into exercise. Slowly, this time. Slow enough that I hopefully won’t end up with injuries to my spine or ankles, thusly shelving my exercise plans for another few weeks. That’s been my vicious cycle for nearly a year, I’m sorry to say.

I need to be more physically fit, so that spring doesn’t pummel me again next year, when I am again compelled to cleanse - against my better judgment and will.

Posted in Getting older, Health, Odds and Sods | 4 Comments »

Jiggy with Joy

Friday, May 22nd, 2009

I’ve no specific reason for being so damned perky and happy today. I mean, sure. It’s Friday, and Friday is generally a very good reason to be chipper. Buddy and I are going to get a night to ourselves, thanks to a) Rosebud’s standard schedule and b) Dragon Mother having Juniper for a sleepover. We’ve got our camping vacation booked (JOY!), and we’re starting to think about the wedding we’ll be attending in San Francisco this summer.

The unpleasantries at work have resolved themselves in a shocking manner - in that things seem to have cautiously, but markedly, taken a giant leap forward. Things are better here than they’ve ever been. I like this.

This weekend promises to be warm enough (FINALLY!) to get the back garden cleaned up, so we can admire our spring sprouts without having to peer around the equally vivacious weeds that are cluttering up the beds.

All of this is great, but there’s no real reason for me to be this damned peppy.

I know, I know.

Stop examining the molars of that thar gift horse.

Stop and smell the bleeding hearts in your backyard.

Stop to appreciate the new Florence and the Machine playing in your right ear (the one with the bud in - the other bud is tucked into the bra strap so that I can hear if anyone decides to approacheth the cubicle).

Stop.

Breathe.

Appreciate.

Recognize.

Which I’ll do - until the jiggy comes back. It won’t take long. The jiggy has been hitting regularly this morning - T-dot and I may or may not have expressed it in the following ways:

Aaron Neville sing-a-longs

Dance breaks in the elevator

Rhythm Heaven prompts (almost as bad as shave and a hair cut for requiring response. I suppose, yeah!)

You should also have jiggy*. I’m just sayin’. It’s Friday, folks. Let’s have fun!

*Yes, I know how it sounds. And hey - it’s not like that’s a bad way to express joy, either.

Posted in Happiness, Odds and Sods | 5 Comments »

Arm candy

Wednesday, May 20th, 2009

Item number eleventygazillion on the list of things they never tell you about parenthood:

The sound of your child crying, even in a state of high tantrum, will invariably make you willing to chew your own arm off if it will stop them from being sad.

Posted in Being a girl, Rosebud, family | 1 Comment »

Happy yay-you-haven’t-killed-each-other!

Wednesday, May 20th, 2009

I make no secret of the fact that I am the product of a marriage that didn’t last. Heck, both of my parents have been married and subsequently divorced twice over.

I didn’t want to get a divorce. But I did. And now that’s done.

However, due to my own experiences in the matter, or perhaps some native curiosity in my system, I’m a bit of a student of long-term relationships. I’ve been known to ask acquaintances about their relationships, if they happen to be in long-term ones.

Do you know what I ask?

I ask if their partner is their best friend.

Too often, this produces an utterly flummoxed look.

Too often, I’m surprised by this fact. It’s as though they’ve never considered it, or hadn’t considered it in so long that it’s like a brand new thought.

Since I didn’t have a model for what constitutes a good long-term relationship as I was growing up, I used to ask the question based on my own original premise (fabricated in my own little nugget-brain) that friendship is what makes people stick together in the long run.

I kept believing this, despite the fact that many people I asked over the years didn’t really know if their partner of 20 years or more was their best friend. I kept believing this despite the fact that my first marriage didn’t last, though I based a lot of my faith in it on the idea that we were friends.

Now, after having lost that love and finding a deeper, richer love, I think my ideas about what makes a good relationship have changed. I’ve incorporated more of the scary bits of what makes a new relationship good into my goals for the long-term, including discovery, need and attraction. I think of these as the scary bits because these are the things can change, evolve or die over time. I’d always thought the friendship part was eternal.

I no longer believe that the friendship aspect of a relationship is eternal. But I do still believe that there has to be a core of friendship in order for it to survive.

So I keep looking for that core in other relationships. Admittedly, less often than I used to. When what you’re already doing with your partner feels solid and right, the reference points matter less.

For example,  almost immediately after I met Buddy’s parents, CH and Bobby, I wanted to dust off the old question. I wanted to ask it because they seemed like they had the friendship thing down pat. When they come over for dinner, they’ll often arrive at different times, having come from two different places. And then they’ll immediately launch into conversation with each other about their days, who they saw and what they did. It’s nice to see.

It’s more than nice. It’s . . . relieving. It’s good to know that, even after many years of marriage (35 or so, methinks), they still want to talk to each other. They still want to share stories about their days. They still like each other’s company.

It’s their anniversary tomorrow. Usually, that merits congratulations, doesn’t it? Sort of a “hey, you survived! You haven’t murdered each other!” deal.

The thought I have for their anniversary is somewhat different. My urge is to say thank you. Thank you for sticking together through the challenges of raising kids and being in each other’s space for decades. Thank you for working at it. Thank you for trying.

Most importantly (and perhaps, most selfishly) thank you for showing me, and Buddy, that it can be done, and done well. I may not find myself needing the reference point as much as I did before, but it certainly doesn’t hurt matters.

Posted in Getting older, Happiness, buddy, divorce, family | 10 Comments »

Shaving my Mrs. Slocombe

Tuesday, May 19th, 2009

Oh, ducklings. Is there anything more joyous than a long weekend with nothing planned?

Prior to the weekend, I had a number of psychological itches relating to my household. Itches that had been tickling around in my brain for months, but hadn’t yet presented themselves for scratching.

This weekend, with it’s blissful vistas of nothing, caused a chorus of “scratch me, too!” in my mind.

So I itched and scratched. In no appreciable order, we:

  • Re-organized the basement and threw out a number of (*sob*) baby things that were no longer required.
  • Tidied up the linen closet (involving much throwing out and re-sorting as well, not to mention causing a great deal of perplexity in my mate, who couldn’t figure out how the towels were now to be folded - three across and three down, of course)
  • Reorganized the bathroom shelves (THE DUST, children! Oh, the horror. Any white-gloved relative would have had fits. Thankfully, I have no white-gloved relatives, or none that I know about. Or none who are willing to darken my doorstep. You must be immune to certain kinds of dirt to be in my house. The list includes, but is not limited to: cat fur, kid detritus, dust and lint.)
  • Shaved the cat (yes, really. She’s old, she’s clumpy and she’s cranky. It ain’t nothin’ like shearing sheep, I can tell you.)

In and amongst that, I napped, cooked, ate, slept, played and vegged. There’s nothing quite like a long weekend to provide you with ample time to do all of these things.

I hope that your long weekend (if you had one) was equally restful and productive. And if you didn’t have a long weekend, please try not to throw anything at me after reading this.

Posted in Happiness | 2 Comments »

Put your lips together and blow.

Tuesday, May 12th, 2009

When did I arrive at the age where spending a weekend doing absolutely became the very definition of a “good” weekend?

Why wasn’t I handed my Geritol and my Depends at the gate?

This is all my sidling and roundabout way of saying that the last few weekends have been busy. They’ve been filled with friends and family, and activities that either had to be done or shoulda been done, or I simply wanted to have done.

This included inspecting 476 potential camping sites with Dragon Mother.

It included two baby showers and one wedding shower.

It included two breakfasts in bed, a day of fabric shopping with CH, drinks with the girls, dinner guests and a general outpouring of happiness and togetherness.

I’ve had lots of activity, lots of fun and lots of work.

Only now, I am blinking my tired eyes across the table at the handsome stranger I’ve agreed to marry and trying to recall the last time we had a date.

I was also bemoaning the lack of time spent with my girls.

Last night, as all of this hit me, hard on the heels of a weekend that involved precisely NONE of the nothing I so enjoy, I was feeling extremely Failicious. Teh Fail. Failbot.

I’ve been having some . . . unpleasantries . . . at work lately. These unpleasantries have been tiring, and they’ve been setting my mood to perma-frustrated.

Add all that up with the fact that we now get to share custody of Rosebud’s soccer games with her father and his girlfriend (AWKWARD!) and that their presence seemed to totally distract Rosebud from actually playing the game . . . well.

I was in a foul mood yesterday. Rosebud asked for bubbles to play with in the backyard. I got them set up for her, and then started back into the house to cook dinner.

“Mama, remember when we blew bubbles together? That was fun.”

She wasn’t trying to guilt me, she wasn’t accusing me. She was just reminiscing about those golden days of yore, when I wasn’t running around like a chicken with my head cut off. When I wasn’t annoyed by work unpleasantries. When I wasn’t trying to shovel dinner into my family before marching off to the soccer field to share with my ex and his girlfriend.

And I remembered. I remembered admiring large bubbles, bemoaning the early poppers, playing tag with the ones that float away.

So I went inside, set dinner to autopilot and came back outside for some bubble therapy.

Bubble therapy is amazing. The simple act of repetitively making bubbles and watching them go away seems to soothe me in ways I didn’t know were possible.

Bubble therapy doesn’t take away the work unpleasantries. It doesn’t make life any less hectic. It didn’t prevent the sharing of the soccer field.

But it allowed me to keep going for one more day, as opposed to pulling the blanket over my head and remaining immobile for a decade or two.

This is good.

Next time you’re near the tipping point of blanket-hermitry, pull out some bubbles. Your kids with thank you, and your mind just might, too.

Posted in Being a girl, In the mother/stepmother 'hood, Rosebud, buddy, family, sports | 5 Comments »

Conversations with Juniper

Friday, May 8th, 2009

Juniper: I don’t get the whole hot yoga thing.

Me: Oh?

Juniper: At first I thought it was all hot, like popular. But it’s not.

Me: It troubles you, does it?

Juniper, staring off into space, answers in an absent whisper: It really does.

Take that, ye exercise trendsetters. If an eight-year-old thinks it’s deranged, I’m willing to bet that our grandchildren will find it unbelievably funny.

Posted in Being a girl, Health, Juniper | No Comments »

Better Off Dead.

Thursday, May 7th, 2009

Last fall, I changed banks.

. . .
You’d think this would be the end of the blog post, as it would clearly be the end of the matter, right? Just switch banks. How hard can that be?

Ha.

Bwah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. Hee, hee. Whooo.

*wipes eyes*

Sorry. I guess I haven’t let you in on the joke yet, have I?

See, the bank didn’t really want me to switch. It wheedled, pleaded, begged and whined. It offered itself to me in rather inappropriate ways. It tried its level best to tempt me back to its stingy bosom, all to no avail.

Truth be told, I didn’t mind being wooed. After the years spent as a starving student, when I could feel my local branch practically roll its eyes the moment I walked in, it’s nice to feel wanted. It’s nice that they appreciate my business and are sorry to lose it.

What isn’t so nice is the number of times I had to go back into my branch to satisfy some niggling little piece of paperwork. It became less of a wooing process and more of a stalking process.

My bank. The naughty little minx was trying to reel me back in on any pretext it could manage.

“OOooh, Wylie. I see that you neglected to cross the T on your last sign-off. Could you come back in during our incredibly inconvenient and infinitesimally short business hours to fix that?”

“Pardon me for brushing up against you. I just felt compelled to let you know that those papers you signed under the guise of closing out all of your products and services didn’t actually cover all of them. There’s this paper here, and another paper there, and you’ll have to call my other naughty friend Zoot to close that other aspect.”

I grimaced, blushed and shifted uncomfortably through all of it. But in the end, I signed every single paper that came my way and received assurances that it was all done.

I should’ve known better. Recently, the bank stopped being a naughty minx and started acting a whole lot like a scarily determined paperboy.

The real catch? They don’t even want two dollars.

They want fourteen cents.

That’s right. Point one four dollars.

To get that fourteen cents, they attempted to charge me 29 dollars in service fees. When I called them to inform them that they cannot charge me for services I didn’t use, and please sir, would you be so kind as to cancel this already cancelled service, I got flashes of the naught minx again.

“Okay, we’ll remove those service fees. Are you sure you want to cancel?”

Yes, I’m very sure.

“What if I told you that you could move any balance over to this card for a low, introductory rate?”

Really, no. I swear, I’m not being coy. I really mean it. No means no, right?

“What if I told you that I could offer you a fifty dollar credit on your card, if only you would come back to it?”

I admit, I was intrigued for a moment at this offer, but I demurred. Again.

Reluctantly, the bank pulled back its financial libido and let me go. Service fees waived, just one minor detail. I need to go to my local branch and pay off my fourteen cent balance.

Really?

Seriously!?!?!

I felt like I had emotional whiplash. What happened to the cooing and wooing that just happened, wherein you were prepared to give me FIFTY DOLLARS for nothing? NOW you want me to spend the gas money, my time-which-really-is-worth-money, and your time-which-you-pay-for-by-the-hour to give you .14 cents?

Jeebus folks, it’ll cost you more to process it than to simply let me keep it.

But no. The coquette, the minx, the stalker, they are gone. Now that the bank has realized I’m lost profits, they are unyielding in this matter. They’re deadly serious, too.

Serious like a paperboy.

Posted in Rant | 5 Comments »

Dood.

Tuesday, May 5th, 2009

Dear sir,

Hey. It’s us. The folks who were in the car next to you during the morning commute yesterday. Hope your week is going well. You seem like a keen guy.

We just wanted to pass you little note on a particular subject. No big deal, nothing to stress about. It’s just that we were in the midst of enjoying our coffee, and were oddly unsettled.

As Buddy said - if you had time to realize that you hadn’t brushed your teeth yet, AND time to collect your toothbrush and paste to bring with you, surely to heavens you had enough time to actually brush your teeth before leaving the house.

No?

Really?

That’s too bad. Because watching you gob out your brushing remains onto the street via the expedient of opening your car door really was not the highlight of our morning. This is especially so since it took us several moments to realize that you had only been brushing your teeth, rather than regurgitating your stomach’s contents for all to see.

We all have a commute. We all wish the commute was more productive. But this seems to be taking it a bit far. Could you maybe think to attend to your more intimate personal grooming before you leave the house? Because this kind of thing might spread. If I see anyone sporting some kind of portable shower unit over their head whilst commuting, I’m coming for you.

Sincerely,

Buddy and Wylie

Posted in Rant, buddy | 1 Comment »