Hanging In There...

Completely overwhelmed by life for the next 2 weeks...but if I can just make it to April, I think I will be okay.  That is, unless those head lice show up again.  Then all bets are off.

But if you are a praying person, say a little prayer for another blogger today - Anna of An Inch of Gray.  Today would have been her son Jack's 13th birthday. 

There's a lot of pain in this world.  We've just got to stick together to get through it.

Unfortunately, that's as profound as I get.  I'm better at talking about vomit, I guess.  What can I say?  We all have our gifts.

Housekeeping

Over to the right there, below the ads and my profile and whatever else, is my rotating blog list.  I'm very fond of it, actually.  It updates itself whenever any of the blogs on it has a new post for me to read.  The most recently posted-on blog appears at the top of the list.

Anywhoo, yesterday I noticed a blog that didn't belong there - it was a spam-ish sort of thing, and I needed it gone.  Only, when I started tinkering around under the hood - as it were - of my sidebar, I managed to delete ALL of the blogs on my list.

When I realized that?  Was NOT one of my better blogging moments. 

By going through some of the comments on my latest posts, I was able to (very) partially restore the list.  If I have missed you, please comment so I can give you back your rightful place in my sidebar.  I could try going through a lot more comments, but I have this irritating thing called a "job" for which I am actually supposed to produce some "work."  Preferably before my contract year ends at the end of this month...


[Funny poster: pleated jeans]

Mattress Discounters Is Going To Hate Me

After 15 years, I decided that it was time to get a new mattress.  Queen size instead of king, so I could rearrange the bedroom. And I could manage to make the bed without walking my short self to one side of the bed and then the other no less than 3 times.  Also, I was eyeing an honest-to-goodness real bedframe at IKEA, with a head board and a footboard, so the room would actually look furnished.

A woman can dream, can't she?

So what I have now is a brand new queen-sized mattress lying on the floor of my bedroom, flanked by 2 nightstands I bought for 25 dollars at a thrift store 18 years ago.  It wasn't easy to get to this point, people.  I had to go to the mattress store and try out the different beds, with 3 children in tow.  I had to get over sticker shock. (1000 dollars?  Really?) 

And finally, today, the guys were coming to pick up the old mattress and box springs and deliver the new.  Which meant that I had to shovel out all the crap that has been accumulating in my bedroom since 2007.  I can't even blame Larry, since he doesn't happen to be the person in this marriage who has half-finished projects and abandoned crafting supplies piled up in every available corner. 

Look, it was an awful day.  By the end, I managed to clear out the main bedroom area by piling everything else into the (no longer) walk-in closet AND completely blocking the entrance thereof.  Also?  There are now boxes of photos in the master bathroom.

On the plus side, I finally got around to moving Larry's dresser into the little alcove across from the master bath.  That dresser creeps me out because it makes weird sounds on cold nights.  And it's ugly. 

So!  Larry gets home (late) tonight.  I'm lying in our freshly made-up bed (on the floor), testing it out.  He lies down, too.  "What do you think?" I ask.

"It's too soft."

I'll give him credit - he looked nervous when he said it.

But the worst part?  He's right.

Who Needs Paris?

Everyone's asleep but me.  Oh, blessed quiet!

My Rachel attends art lessons taught by a woman who is the German grandmotherly type.  "I try not to chastise the children too much," she told me in her Teutonic accent the first day of class.  Oh, chastise away, m'lady; no reason that I should have to be the only one to do that. 

So I take Rachel and her friend to art class each week (leaving Brian to play with the friend's brothers); and then, for 2 hours, I do errands (library, Target, post office) with Susie in tow. 

I don't know whether I have ever touched on this subject, but Susie has the almost supernatural ability to produce continuous sound.  Her voice resonates beautifully and is quite pleasant to listen to, but still...she talks and sings NON-STOP.  2 hours, every Tuesday, she has me all to herself and she is vocalizing the entire time.  It's impressive.

And then, a couple of weeks ago, the art teacher said, "You know, a space has opened up in this class.  I think Susie's old enough to try it."

People, I didn't ask, "How much?"  I didn't say, "Gee, let me think about it" or even "Let me talk to Susie."  Before you could say "oil-based pastels," I had Susie sitting in front of a box of paints and I was heading back out to my car.

Full-body bliss --  that is the feeling that descended upon me as I sat in my unexpectedly quiet car.  It was as if every muscle - nay, every last fiber - of my being unclenched itself as I sank into that blessed silence.  2 hours later, I returned to the art studio a changed woman - restored, refreshed, transcendent.

That feeling, of course, lasted not 5 minutes once everyone was back in the car...but, you know, that's okay.   Now I can handle the bickering and the singing and the whining for food. 

Because I'll always have Tuesdays.

[Paint palette image: Ithan Elementary School]

Was Davy Jones The Justin Bieber Of The 1960's?

Does anyone else see the resemblance?  Maybe it's just the eyebrows...

RIP, buddy.  And thanks for making Marcia Brady happy...