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.


  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...

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

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

  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.

  4. Paints worries? What paint worries?

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

  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.

  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.

  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!