Thursday, March 09, 2017

First Rule Of Paint Club

You know why it's Thursday and I haven't posted in 3 days? Because I do NOT want to talk about paint. AT ALL.

Our handyman kept showing up earlier and earlier all week. It was as if he was testing me, seeing when I would break. But hey, I was raised on stories of Anne Frank hiding from the Nazis - I don't break so easy. I kept on getting up earlier and earlier to unlock the door. HE'S NOT GOING TO BEAT ME.

Larry has been away all week, which is normally sort of relaxing: I don't sweat dinner as much (not that I do normally, come to think of it), I go to bed when I want without worrying about waking him up, I've got yarn strewn all over the bed (that is SO normal, shut up). It's like a mini-vacation, although for the life of me, I don't know why.

But David is coming home from college tonight, we've had a variety of dental appointments this week for the kids, Brian and Rachel have needed close to a zillion rides, and every client I have (well, 2, but it seems like a lot) unexpectedly needed me to drive them somewhere, also. I keep saying to myself, "This is nothing. You used to have 6 kids ages 13 and under at home. You homeschooled them, for heaven's sake. You cooked 3 meals a day, every day, because your oldest had a dairy allergy. There were mountains of laundry. You never had a good night's sleep. THAT was hard. NOW is easy."

Let's look at some pretty yarn and feel better, okay?
Easy - but I still feel as if I am going in 16 different directions and dropping a lot of balls. All I know is - today alone - I left milk in my car for 3 hours; I dashed out to the grocery store without my phone and then couldn't remember if I had accidentally turned the stove on under a pan of oil before I left (I didn't, whew); and I completely flipped out when Rachel, as I was driving her home from her after-school rehearsal, said "I KNOW" in a shut-up tone of voice that made me want to strangle her (again, I didn't, but it was close).

I sound stressed, but really, I just can't accept that as a possibility (see above re NOW is easy). This is all small potatoes (well, except for that potential house fire - that would have been bad). I'm thinking maybe I hate driving, which is unfortunate, as my job description is essentially one word: DRIVING. Or maybe it's just the unresolved paint thing gnawing at my subconscious.

We're NOT going to talk about it. Just, NO.




8 comments:

  1. Sometimes the worst part is the designated driving--you spend more darn time on everyone else's schedule that it's impossible to get anything done.
    I love when D is gone out of town. I should send him somewhere...

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    Replies
    1. Yes, it's being at the beck and call of everyone else's schedule, I think.

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  2. Great movie reference. Now about that paint color...Sorry!

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  3. I hear you, sister! Yes, going in 16 different directions on account of everyone else is very stressful, and in addition having to deal with eye-rolling or the voice equivalent - that just puts it over the top.

    I looked at the yarn and it was soothing.

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  4. Paints worries? What paint worries?

    Being a slave to other people's schedules is extremely stressful.

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  5. I actually just told somebody last week that life was so much easier when I had all 6 kids at home, homeschooling them. Now that they are older, it seems like ALL I DO is drive them places. I really hate it. And, as you well know, they aren't exactly appreciative of my sacrifices. I know I am supposed to see it as something I "get" to do and that I will miss it someday. But, boy oh boy, that is hard some days. I love how Gigi termed it..."being a slave to other people's schedules"! Totally stressful.

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  6. The nice thing about when they say "I know" when I am driving, is that having two hands on the wheel keeps me from attempting to strike a snarky child. I am amazed at how much sass can be packed into two words. The best conversations and the rudest come when the teen is in the front passenger's seat.

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  7. The urge to strangle a kid hasn't left me yet (the culprit is now 24 years old). I will say that having my spouse as the chief cook these days is pretty sweet -- even if he keeps forgetting to bring me coffee, make my breakfast, or pack me a lunch. Hey, at least there's supper!

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