Wait… What happened to October?

It’s already October 25th. Just a week ago we were celebrating Princess Punk’s birthday. Right? WTF happened to the last few weeks? Have things really been that busy? I’m behind at work, behind at home and getting frantic about all the things I have yet to do before the end of the month. Which is less than a week away.

I can’t share my work list, I will just say I have 8 tons of work to do and I can’t haul more than about 2 tons in the next week.

Here’s my home list (at least what I can remember at the moment)

  1. Laundry… The Zen Master decided (after more than a few bitchy comments from me about his lack of folding my work clothes) that he was no longer doing anyone’s laundry but his own. Since I’ve been so busy/distracted/batshit crazy, I didn’t really notice. Untill neither the midget or myself had a single clean article of clothing. I don’t have that many clothes, but it just so happened to coincide with the bringing out of the cold weather stuff so it took me a little longer to become aware of the fact that the dirty laundry was piling up into a massive mountain in the basement. Because my dear Zen Master was still removing the dirty clothes from our room, he was just bringing them downstairs where I couldn’t see them. Out of sight… Which brings me to…
  2. Clothes. The Peach has, within the span of exactly one month, outgrown all the clothes I just bought her to start preschool. So I haver to now (after everything is washed) go through all her clothes and pull out the 4T’s I just bought (and those she had from the summer) and put them in a box for goodwill. I also have to go through my own clothes and pull out all the warm weather clothes and put them up for the winter so I have room in my drawers for all the clean clothes I will soon have. I’m hoping to get rid of some of my stuff too, I’ve gone a little thrift shop crazy over the past few years and I’ve accumulated more second-hand clothes than I really need. So I’ll pick out the nicest stuff and get rid of the rest.
  3. Cleaning. Yuck. Here’s the thing. My family, all of us, including myself, are slobs. Here’s the other thing. I don’t mind mess so much. But when things get dirty? I lose my shit. If you don’t know the difference between messy and dirty, you clearly do not have children. When there are toys in weird places because The Peach decided to play in close proximity to her sister or clothes on the floor because I was too lazy to go downstairs and get the only empty laundry basket, I get slightly annoyed, but I generally just let it go. When there is unidentifiable sticky stuff on my night table or the layer of dog hair on my bedroom rug is so thick I can’t figure out what color it’s supposed to be? Then I get upset. And when I clean, I CLEAN. Thoroughly. Ceiling to floor. Literally. I organize and dust and vacuum the cobwebs out of the corners and move furniture and wash everything down with antibacterial cleaner. My Mom cleans that way too. But I’ve been too busy and tired and My Mom? Well, She’s 68 with bad knees and she shouldn’t have to clean up after everyone else anyway. So we’ve been making do with Princess Punk and The Zen Master’s version of clean. Which is not clean. They pick up the mess (most of it) but there’s no dusting. They vacuum, but only the open spaces. They do the dishes, but don’t wash down the counters. So the house needs a thorough “Mom Clean.” Which I started this weekend, but now I’m wiped out and I my back hurts and I only managed to wash about half the clothes and clean most of my room. But hey, My rug is a really pretty shade of chocolate brown.
  4. Miscellaneous stuff… I have to write to Terry. I haven’t written to him in over 6 months and I feel horrible about it. I have to clean out the fridge. It’s gross. I have to change a few light bulbs and call the repair guy to get a quote on fixing the fridge and find a contractor to get a quote on replacing the doors (so at least we know how much we have to save up) and get the patio table out of the pond where it apparently blew last night. I’m pretty sure it’s beyond repair now. I have to call the plumber and see why they haven’t withdrawn their customary $100 out this month I’ve been paying on our $800 plumbing bill from ages ago. I have to call my TMJ doctor and make an appointment because I had to cancel the last 2. I have to call my PCP and schedule an annual exam for myself and one for The Peach. Oh and I think Princess Punk too. And The Zen Master is having a vasectomy next month and I have to make sure I have that time off so I can drive him home and hold frozen peas to his nether regions. I have to go grocery shopping. Oh… And even though it’s not exactly a necessity, I have to get my nails done. It’s the only thing I do for myself and I’m going on 4 weeks without a fill (UV gel cover over my own nails) and they’re starting to threaten to break.

So that’s only 4 things right? Ugh. I’m going back to bed.

Nope. The Peach is “hungwy” because it’s noon already. I slept late this morning (all the way until 6:30) so I guess that’s why my day’s gone by so fast. Right?

I need more caffeine. And Ritalin. And maybe some vodka?

Driving me crazy… Oh. Wait.

Ok. So I’m already crazy.

I’m just incredibly irritated.

Because I finally have a working computer and a place to sit that has been deemed dont-you-ever-sit-there-or-put-your-sister-there-that-is-MY-space. And I’m having some weird sort of writer’s block. It’s not like i can’t write anything at all, I think I’ve posted more in the last 2 weeks than I did for the entire summer, but it’s that I’ve had all these fantastic posts bubbling around in my head and now I can’t seem to access them.

It’s like our pool. We have this lovely pool (that I personally never go in, but everybody else does) and it sits under two lovely trees. So there is constantly all manner of leaves and bugs and sticks and stuff in there that has to be skimmed out. Fine. But then The Peach decided that the skimmer was a really cool shovel and proceeded to (in the span of about 30 seconds while we weren’t looking) dig in the stones by the house and put several large holes in it. So you skim the pool, and everything just slips through the skimmer. Some stuff gets caught, but if you don’t grab it right away, the flow of the water pushes it right through one of those big Peach pits.

Which is where my brain is at right now. I have all these fantastic posts that are practically already written, but I keep dipping into the thought pool to skim them and they just quietly slip through the holes. And yeah, a couple get caught, but if I don’t get them written right away (like this past weekend), they stick briefly, then swish through. If I’m lucky I’ll get another shot if it swirls around again, but I think most of them just break down and get absorbed back into the larger thought flow.

Is there such thing as a thought pool vacuum?

Itsy-Bitsy? I don’t think so.

I dislocated my shoulder trying to kill a spider.

With a flip-flop.

Seriously.

It was only very briefly, and not like, a full-blown, screaming pain, movie-style, have-a-shot-of-alcohol-and-1-2-3-clunk dislocation. I was fortunate to have an appointment already scheduled with my physical therapist the following day, so I figured I’d just talk to her about it. She confirmed my suspicions and advised me that this was what is called a subluxation, where the shoulder is not completely out of the socket, just sort of, half-way.

Here’s what happened…

First of all, let me say, both Princess Punk and I are afraid of spiders. This is actually a well-deserved fear since at one point in Florida, the house we were living in was infested for about 3 months. INFESTED.

Did you know that exterminators can do nothing about spider infestations short of tenting the house? Apparently, since so little of their icky little bodies are close to and surface they may be skittering across, any type of poison application is pretty much useless. So we had to endure it for a few months until they “moved on” or whatever it is that spiders do.

I got bit. Princess Punk got bit. TWICE. I woke up more than once with 1 or more spiders crawling on me. Like my face. EWWWWWWW… I doubt The Princess remembers consciously, she was only 2 years-old at the time, but there’s definitely a rooted subconscious phobia in there. When I say phobia, I mean a true phobia. Not a squealing “Ohmigod a spider! Heeheehee…” but a full-blown, hysterical, banging on my door at midnight, panic-attack kind of phobia.

Which is what happened.

~knockknock~

~BANGBANGBANG~

“Moooooooommmm!!!”

“hunh?”

(weeping and sobbing dramatically) “Mom, there’s a spider in my room by my bed, I’m really scared, Mom PLEASE!”

“hunh?”

(true hysteria sets in) “MOM! I’m not going in there I can’t it’s a huge spider PLEASE MOM PLEASE!!!!”

The Zen Master is PTFO (passed the fuck out)

~sigh~ “Okokok… Chill out, I’ll get it.”

So I go into her room. Navigate my way over to her bed in the direction she is pointing with a shaky hand.

There is a spider next to her bed. It is… Large. Not huge. There have been bigger spiders found in this home. Just big.

It skittered.

Fast.

So I grab the nearest slapping-type thing (a flip-flop), and attempt to smush the offending creature. In doing so, I put my knee on Princess Punk’s desk chair which (I forgot) swivels. Since her room is a mess, I find myself swatting at this thing around clothes, books, a shin guard… I dunno, it was midnight.

And then I reached too far. And the chair swiveled and I slipped. And slammed my shoulder into the arm of the chair.

I heard it. Kind of a gross clickcrunch. Then, because I hadn’t actually realized what I had done, I put both hands on the chair to push myself back up to a standing position.

~cruchclick~

I screamed. It hurt SO bad, but was over in an instant. But then I couldn’t lift my arm without this tearing burn and I went to bed with a bag of frozen peas.

The Zen Master killed the stupid spider. With a beer bottle. Swear to God.

So…

Sling for a few weeks then some strengthening exercises and then avoiding situations that could cause reinjury. Which is damn near impossible with The Peach within a hundred yards of me.

Still…

Great story for a party right?

 

 

Please Don’t Eat the Daisies

Have you ever read “Please don’t eat the Daisies,” by Jean Kerr? Or seen the movie starring Doris Day? The title kinda says it all. It’s referencing all those things that you say as a parent that really should never have to be said. Here are a few of phrases recently heard in the NewLife household…

  • “Ohhh… Don’t lick the table.” (this phrase is frequently used with various substitutions of the last word… window, floor, dog, your sister’s foot…)
  • “Be careful the poop doesn’t roll onto the floor.”
  • “Um… Why are there biscuits in my purse?”
  • “No, you sit on the potty THEN pee.”
  • “Don’t play with your vagina in the kitchen please.”
  • “I said, Don’t diddle yourself in the kitchen!” (This was, at least, directed at the toddler and not anyone else in the household)
  • “Please get off of Fairy Dog, he is not a trampoline.”
  • “Could you wait till we’re inside to take your shoes off?”
  • “Ew! Don’t put the butt thermometer in your mouth!”
  • “Please don’t grab Mommy’s butt while she’s making bacon.” (Seriously)
  • “NO! If it’s in the garbage, it is not a toy.”
  • “No, it’s not a balloon, it’s bacon. Eat it.”
  • “Please don’t put syrup in your hair.”
  • “No you can’t take a nap on the bathroom floor.”
  • “No toes on the dinner table.”

Those are the ones I can remember off the top of my head. It just seem that, a minimum of 5 times within a day, I find myself saying something that will completely halt my chatter (an amazement in itself) and cause me to think,

“Did I Seriously just say that out loud?”

An email from The Princess…

From: Princess Punk [mailto: PrincessPunk@emailISP.com]

Sent: Friday, April 25, 2014 1:01 PM

To:NewLife; work

Subject: can you?

 can you get me these there really good i would eat them instead of candy and they are pretty healthy 🙂PP1food

 

 

 

On Friday, April 25, 2014, NewLife<New.Life@workemail.com> wrote:

Can you send me a grammatically correct email?

 

 

 

From: Princess Punk [mailto: PrincessPunk@emailISP.com]

Sent: Friday, April 25, 2014 1:01 PM

To:NewLife; work

Subject: Could you buy these for me?

Can you please buy these bars at the store on your way home. They are really good and I would eat them instead of candy. I would like it if you got them for me. 

 

 

I can’t tell if she’s being snarky or just following directions.

A future receptionist?

Called My Mom this morning to remind her to call her sister about the possibility of us going to NY next week.

“HE-WOH?”

(rustling and scrabbling) “Ohmygoodness… Give me the phone honey… Hello?”

(laughing probably WAY too loudly for my office,even with the door closed) “Um… Hi Mom”

“I swear, I didn’t even hear it ring! She just… And… I’m so glad it was you! Oh. I guess now she wants to talk to you. Hang on.”

“HI! Hi mom!”

“Hi baby!” (I now have a ridiculously goofy grin on my face)

“I bidogrw ornslegew”

“Hunh?”

(very slowly) “I biwdin le-go.”

“Ohhhh… You’re playing with your legos! Awesome!”

(delighted she has gotten through my thick skull) “Yeah!! I biwdin!”

“What are you building honey?”

“I biwd a tower!”

“A tower! Wow, that’s great!”

“K bai.”

(more rustling) “Got it! She almost hung up on you.”

“I was just calling to remind you to call your sister.”

“Oh! right! OK, I’ll try to fit it in, we’ve been very busy this morning. OH! Oh. Ok, she wants to say goodbye. I’m just going to let her hang up this time since I gotta pee.”

(rustle) “wuh you bai”

“I love you t…” I realize the phone has disconnected.

Hm. I think she’s get fired pretty quick.

Breaking point

After a flurry of text maessages from both my husband and my teenage daughter, I sent the following email to both of their cell phones, since my texting was no longer working, probably overloaded by the aforementioned flurry of text messages:

Subj: Now my fucking cell phone is not working

 
You know what? Fuck this. I’m not being Mrs. Newlife* anymore. Being Mrs. Newlife sucks. I will be Georgiana from now on.I will be home around 4pm. Iwill happily accept a hug and a kiss but the next person who asks me something that another person in the household can answer, I am going to completely fucking lose the tiny piece of sanity I have left. And Princess Punk**, before you start getting pissy about me yelling at you, know that I am sending this to more than one person.
 
*Obviously, I used my real name in the actual message
**Ditto for The Princess

Previous Older Entries