joeyfullystated

No one is teaching the children anything.
Including me. Apparently.

Things I knew by the time I was 15, 16 — well, it’s not fair to compare, because my own mother would tell you I raised myself. I didn’t really. I had a village like everyone else. I grant you my village was a motley crew. Still, what other village could have turned this out? I’m a highly impressionable person, naturally curious, keen on learnin — show me once, I’ve probably got it.

Unless there are numbers. I just paid for a thing and I think she should charge me the amount. I don’t want to see all the math: charges, discounts, taxes. In fact, I’d much prefer she take my card number and pay herself every month instead. Although that would probably be uncomfortable for her, would it be any more uncomfortable than it is for me to reach behind my head and grab my handbag?

So yeah, not with numbers, like when you’re buying the food for an event and you have more bananas than you can shake a banana at, and you realize, at the ripe old age of 45 that you truly assumed there were always 5 bananas in every bunch, but there are not. Banana bunches are not pressed out on an assembly line and your banana count will vary accordingly. You may not count 5-10-15-20-25-30 and head to blueberries, you must actually count the bananas. Sassy said we’re the people in story problems.

“If Joey has 22 bananas and she needs 8 more bananas, how many bananas…”

This is not about the heaping abyss of what I still don’t even know I don’t know, it’s about what the kids don’t know.

I have failed my children.

i’ve had so many years to teach them…

After we had gone to bed, after I had begun the nice sleeping, Sassy came to my side of the bed and asked about going on a date today or tonight, somethin, I don’t know, this is never the best time to engage my brain, because mean mouth takes over when I sleep. I know whatever I rambled ended with “No date tomorrow! No! You can ask Daddy in the morning, but it’s a no from me. No date!”

Now, perhaps I’ve also failed to demonstrate proper timing or being inaccessible to tedium, as I am always, always, always the parent who is awakened in the night. Daddy might wake and put me in a choke hold thinking I’m the enemy, but Mama will help me. Rather than blame my clear lack of military training, I blame my face.

This morning when The Mister was off to collect Sassy, I asked him if he knew that child had come into our room in the middle of the night and asked about a date today and he said no. I asked if she brought it up to him and he said, “Yes. She seemed to have a hard time understanding why we’d be home.”

Then, when Moo ambled out into the living room, she stopped startled when she saw me, and asked, “Why are you home?”
“It’s a holiday.”
“Hm,” she said when this registered.

What if there’s something really important I’ve neglected to teach them? Yes, yes, I’ll tell them about the bananas, but what if this is a warning?!?

What else might they not know? Enlighten us with your wisdom.

Okay, so you should know I can’t actually do nothing unless I’m sick, and even then I talk crazy or whine, so it’s still debatable. Also, remember that weekend I did too good of a job relaxing and got a sick?

Friday, we picked Sassy up and took her with us to the store, where we bought a cart full.  I noticed the young couple behind us had merely gathered ale, cookies, and twinkly lights. I could not contain my envy.

When we got home, The Mister blocked my car in, because I would be going nowhere for daaays.
I fell asleep so quickly, I didn’t even put my earplugs in.

I woke up early on Saturday, before I’d ever wake up with an alarm. I had slept well. I wanted to do thoughtful things for The Mister, so I took the dog out and heated up his car and made coffee. Sassy was concerned, “Why are you up?”
“I SLEPT!”
The Mister took Sassy to the thing.

When he got back, we had coffee and then I watched shows and pet my dog and fell asleep.

The boy one is here, guess he’s staying about a week? I dunno. There were extra teens at our house, too. Moo had a painting party and this, along with some exchange of furniture between the girls, on top of Bubba’s luggage and recent acquisitions from my in-laws meant that our house was rather … disorderly. Of course I wanted order, but I knew I needed to conserve energy. I told people that our house was in a transitional stage and carried on.

After the thing, The Mister brought more teens to our house. We had talked about him getting takeout to conserve even more of my energy, but I leaned toward comfort food, so I made some turkey and noodles and corn casserole, reheated some veggies and rolls, and whipped up deviled eggs. We had a table full of happy faces we had a splendid time with the young folks.

The great thing about my kids having friends over is that they people and I can sorta people or not people at will.

Still, I wore my love monkey pajamas all day and I did zero dishes.

Evening snuggles? Yes, please.

Sunday, I slept later, but still rose early for me. I prepared ‘breakfast in bed’ by making two glasses of chocolate milk, collecting a bowl of blueberries, one orange, and a coupla bananas and then we ate that breakfast while watching shows in our bed. We alternated between doing laundry and lying in bed. I dozed off again.

Eventually we got up, and then I had to do stuff, because I can’t start a week in disorder. So I cleaned the house and me, then made us a late dinner.

I took this selfie with bacon because self-portrait was the prompt of the day, but while I did it, I thought of Zombie Flamingoes.

Then, this morning, the furnace guy had to come out, because well, you know how Diva Furnace does. Apparently, this time around, he simply needed some cleaning. We’re glad it isn’t time to buy a new furnace and glad to be warm.

I worked today, but only midday. After that, I went to the store to get the provisions, but everyone had beaten me to the cabbage and black-eyed peas, so I hope the brisket I purchased is chockablock fulla prosperity on its own. Also, I bought a fancy cake. Mmm, fancy cake.

The five of us are going to Meat n Milk tonight. (Steak n Shake). Moo wants a burger. It’s like when I want a burger — we feed the beast what it desires. I think I’ll get a vanilla shake and a Coke, since it’s practically a holiday.

I am already looking forward to that, and to bed. I don’t even know if I can midnight. Coke will help. I wish I had a Coke RIGHT NOW.

Y’all got big plans for tonight? Did y’all get yer cabbage and black-eyes peas? Do you have brisket, fancy cake, or a warm house? What’s goin on?

Laura nominated me to play along in the Christmas Tag thingy.
Um, Yule. Potato, potahto, latkes, yum! Thank you, Laura!

1.  Which Christmas carol makes you change the radio station in five seconds or less? Which one makes you turn the volume all the way up so you can sing along?

Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer — I hate it. I hated it when I was ten years old. I do not find it funny. It makes me incredibly sad for Grandpa. If a reindeer had trampled my grandmother, someone in my family woulda filled that fucker with buckshot.

White Christmas is probably my favorite one to sing. I regularly annoy my husband with “May your days be merry and briiiiiight” for about a month. Just randomly belting that out. He hates that about me. If it isn’t that one, it’s Angels We Have Heard on High, which is really GLOOO-OOOOO-OOOOOR-RIA, also annoying to husband, but musically more complex, and not as directly optimistic as merry and bright, so a bit more tolerable I suspect.

August Burns Red – Carol of the Bells is to be listened to at full blast. And thou shalt bang thy head.

2.  Loose tinsel, garland tinsel, or “hell no, you’re not coming near my tree with that tinsel stuff”?

No. No, thank you.

Oh, on your tree? How festive!

3.  What one tradition do you really have to have on Christmas Day for it to feel like Christmas Day?

Bake. I must bake. Baking is my thing.

4.  Have you ever spotted something in, say, March and thought, “Gee, that would be perfect for so-and-so’s Christmas present, I’ll just pick it up.”?

No.

5.  Have you ever found a Christmas present years later that you bought early then totally forgot about until you were searching for just one more roll of wrapping paper in the back of the storage room?

No, but my dog did months later. I had bought Moo a video game for Christmas, and I had hidden it so well I hid it from myself. The following September, about a week after we got Sadie, she brought me the game in her soft mouth, wagging her tail. I don’t know where she got it or how she knew. It was the damnedest thing. She is a magical beast.

6.  Have you ever regifted a present?

Yes. Many nice gifts are nice gifts for someone else.

7.  Do you have more than one Christmas tree in your home? If so, do you decorate them differently?

Haha! No. Am I livin in The Southwest Virginia Museum? Sorry, that’s what I think of when I imagine Christmas tree heaven. My goodness, I live in a bungalow with three other people, three cats, and a dog. We must all limit our possessions to prevent chaos.

8.  What food or drink do you associate most strongly with the Christmas season?

It is not Christmas without mini iced sugar cookies. Which I bake.

9.  What’s the weirdest holiday story you have from childhood?

I will say one funny thing I remember is sitting at the coffee table with my cousins, eating Life Savers, when out of the blue my youngest cousin said, “How to attack birds” and we all laughed because she was learning to read and the book was “How to Attract Birds.” It STILL makes me laugh, mostly because the imagery of my mother attacking birds is absolutely hysterical! If you knew my mother, you’d laugh too. Try that with your own mother. Go ahead. Visualize your mom attacking birds.

10.  Lights – big or small? white or multicolored? blinking or solid?

They’re all good, depending on the overall look. I love the lights. My tree is medium white lights and solid.

11.  Tree toppers – angel, star, something else?

A five-pointed star, cause pagan heathen Unitarian. It has just occurred to me that an angel holding a wee iced sugar cookie would also be acceptable.

12.  How do you know when it’s time to take down the decorations?

Years ago, I met with a realtor about selling our house. He walked through and made his assessment and then joined me and my notepad at the dining table.
What did I need to do to get ready to sell?

An entire legal pad’s worth of work.

Who would do this? Me.

Right.
Me. And?
Bubba, 12, Sissy, 10, Sassy, 3, Moo, 2.
Where was my husband? Serving his country, with orders to report out of state.
Right.

This realtor, a man then twice my age, a family man, a man of faith, so kind, saw how overwhelmed I was and said to me, “Thinking about something is much, much worse than actually doing it.”
Now, that may sound like a small thing to say, but it impacted me immediately, and I’ve never forgotten him or his words because of it. It’s so true. I got everything checked off that list except the weird ceiling tile over the basement steps. And I did it in a few months, with all those kids.

I use this to motivate myself all the time. That realtor lives in my head and I still listen to him. I listen to him when it’s early spring and the garden is a mere concept, when I plan a vacation, when I need to speak to important people. He’s there, in my head, reminding me I can check it all off.

Speak to me of this truth, Realtor. Remind me of the Buddha’s teaching, Realtor.

I regularly tell other people this thing he told me. I’ve said it to two people in the last four days, and thought about telling another, but then I decided I should just release this draft into the wild. This is for Joanna.

BECAUSE

“All these things” feel like “Everything”.

Strangely, the realtor in my head is helpful for much smaller tasks as well.
There are things I dread like they’ll take all my strength and forever to complete. I may die if I have to _____________. These tasks weigh on me, stress me out, if only for a few minutes.

And these are not big things. Oh, yes, I’ll tell you what they are for me, but then you should tell me yours because sharing is caring.

1. Filing. Now, I don’t mean filing like I have a stack and a filing cabinet. That is Work-Filing, not Mom-Filing. Mom-filing isn’t tidy and relaxing like Work-Filing. Mom-Filing is scattered and house-wide. It starts at the desk, yes, but where it goes depends. Whose paper is this? What date? Is this expired? Ooh, I gotta mail this! I wondered where my takeout menu was! Who got this out? All over the house I go, her room, his drawer, my purse, the address book, the folders, the bulletin board, the recipe box…

2. Shaving my legs. How this can be a thing, I do not know. I always shave. I shave all the time. I shave for my own comfort. Two days, I get itchy. Three, I scratch myself bloody and bruised. Seriously, every two days, minimum, I shave my legs. But there I am in the shower, all I hate shaving. I have this lil talk with myself about the itching and the prickles and I summon the energy to spend two minutes shaving my legs like it’s a momentous occasion and I deserve accolades for this because I thought it would be horrendous. What the fuck is that about? I can wash my hair and shave my legs in the time it takes my husband to shave his face, and I don’t hear him whinin about it!

3. Doing dishes. I’ve written about this before. I act like doing the dishes is going to take me all night, hours and hours of dishes, such a waste of time. And then I’ll have to clean the stove and the counters and wipe out the sink and can I even pull through? Then I do that, and think about Thich Nhat Hanh and gratitude and it takes me twenty minutes which are not entirely unpleasant and I think Oh My God Joey, you’re such a big baby! A big baby who makes her kids wash the dishes.

4. Making the phone calls. Chatting to the help desk. Ordering the things. Getting served. Well, you just never know what you’re gonna get, do ya? When I get good customer service, I do go on about it. Write glowing reviews, thank the person endlessly, but still, I dread that initial reaching out moment. And I don’t care how fast it is, it takes too long, because the amount of time it should take is a split second.

Sometimes you just gotta do all the things that feel like everything.

Sometimes you gotta do piddly shit that feels like everything.

Either way, Realtor’s advice is good.