JusJoJan — 1

I shall jot through January, as I do every year.

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This year will be a greater challenge because of work. I’ve been working full-time for over a month, and if I don’t blog in the morning, it seems I don’t blog at all. I start the week off well, and then it’s just a sad lil tale of my good intentions. Le sigh.

I figure maybe bloggin SOMETHIN every day in January will train me up a new habit.

In addition to Just Jot It January, I’ve joined The Escapist Coloring Club.

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As I’ve written many times, I tend to do what LindaGHill tells me to. Also, I love to color.

Today is about jotting itself and sharing the highlights from the last week.

We did nom the noms. I may have eaten two tons of mashed potatoes and one ton of my ham gravy. I do not know, but I know I’m sad I’m not eating it right now.

 

 

We did go downtown for coffee and a walk around the circle.

 


We did snuggle into one another and sleep aplenty.

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And best of all, I finally got my white Christmas.

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yaaasss, snow, yaaasss

It was bliss.
However, this weekend is better. It’s simpler. And snowier. I very much like this extra day, and hope you do, too.

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SoCS — Now Serving Resolution, Take a Number

Resolutions are great. I enjoy resolutions. I don’t make New Year’s ones, though. My thoughts on New Years’ Resolutions are like, “Well if it’s such a good idea, shouldn’t you start now?”

*shrug*

This morning, at McDon’ts:

Bacon, egg, and cheese biscuits are two for two dollars, and since that’s what Sassy likes, I ordered the twofer. Y’all, I was in it for the Coke, you know how I do.
Anyway, we were standin there, with all the drinks made, waitin on the food.
Many people after us had been served.
Sassy, having swam 10,000 meters, no, that’s not an exaggeration, was just a wee bit peckish, and watching all the other people’s foods come up did not help her patience.
I was about to make inquiry on the whereabouts of our foods when the manager started a holler about the delay on the two bacon, egg, and cheese biscuits.

The counter staff got salty and contemptuous with the cook.
“Well I ain’t ate it, and it ain’t here, make more.”
“They came here for food, they’re not gonna go away, make it again!”
“You know she ain’t made it, I ain’t bagged it.”
“Just do your job!”

Manager arrived on the scene. “Still no bacon, egg, and cheese?”

“She said she made those already.”

Then Manager spoke directly to the cook, whose voice I never heard. All I could hear was the manager.

“I don’t care if you made them already. They’re not here.

“We need two. Now.

“Two more then. Now.

“Make them again.”

Cook said somethin else, then Manager took an expected route. She went sappy and apologetic, “I’m sorry the ones you made are not here. We don’t know what happened to them. You’ll need to make them again.”

I was thinkin about how this would go at other jobs.

“I already took her blood.”
“But it’s not at the lab.”
“Well, I already took it.”

“I already filed that motion.”
“But the court has no record of it.”
“Well, I already filed it.”

“I already put that fire out.”
“But it’s burning again.”
“Well, I already put it out.”

Can you imagine?!?

Eventually Manager yelled, “NEVER MIND, I’LL DO IT MYSELF!”

Within minutes, a smiley lady handed me the bag of foods and apologized for our wait.

On the way home, all I could think was how much of life is figuratively resolving to make two more bacon, egg, and cheese biscuits … And how much of life is NEVER MIND, I’LL DO IT MYSELF.

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Stream of Consciousness Saturday — SoCs ‘resolution’ is brought to you by LindaGHill 

 

 

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SoCS — Not An Inspiring Holiday Post

You’ll never believe what I’ve been doing.
Almost Everything.
It’s very mommer to do Everything this time of year.

I’m not doing Everything. That’s why I wrote Almost Everything.

I made one meal all week. That was about a hundred years ago, Monday maybe.

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I reconnected with the sammich love of my life this week.

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Mostly, I worked and ran errands.

I’d made some decisions about the holidays earlier in the season. Grumpy decisions. I’m not Bah Humbug, but over time, I’ve maybe become a lil jaded about certain things.

Last year, I took an adorable box of my baked goods to someone’s house, whereupon person did not say thank you, but instead “Put them on the table.” Now, I should be giving the goodies with love and not a care in the world about appreciation, because generosity of spirit, but instead, I felt only the sting of tears.
I bake because I enjoy it, but the giving part is optional, cause I also, my family also, likes eating.
So maybe after 22 years of this tradition, I’ve become a bit stingier.

Like Water for Chocolate, y’all — Choke on some bitter cookies with angry icing.

I’ve also grown a bit Scrooge over holiday cards. I take the time to sit and write cards by hand and then time to stand in line at the post office to get festive stamps and time to put cute little stickers on them and honest to goodness, there are very few people who give a fuck. I should be sending out cards with loving messages because I am a loving person who wants everyone to enjoy a moment of knowing they matter to me. Instead, I’m more, i could be watching the crown, petting my cat…
So after 26 years of writing holiday cards to everyone I love, this year I’m only writing cards to people who give a fuck.

Otherwise, people might get hexed with paper cuts.

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I buy the presents. I spend hours and hours online an in stores, buying the presents. So people can thank my husband, and give me something that wasn’t good enough for someone who really matters to them.
OF COURSE IT’S A CONSPIRACY! How else could it be explained?

I’m not particularly into things. Is it the thought that counts? How do I measure that? I’m into feelings. I don’t feel how one should feel, at all.

I never have to ask my dog what she wants for Christmas. She wants bones. Bones on bones on bones.

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Maybe if you have to ask what we like, you shouldn’t shop for us.
So um, this year, if you haven’t been inside me, not so much of my time or thought for you.

Aren’t I terrible?!?

Give me another ten years and I’ll be like The Mister. “Fuck it. Fuck em all.”
He says I’m shedding delusions.

Less is more, amirite?

I have lived for this weekend. Wrapping paper ribbon joy, coffee on the circle, smiles and laughter, latkes by candlelight, vanilla scented songs, blankets and shows, snuggles and cuddles with my family, pancakes in pajamas, an abundance of twinkly lights, too much ham with too much mash and too much gravy — anything beyond that will not please me.

LONG LIVE THIS WEEKEND!

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What’s your Yule Mode?

Stream of Consciousness Saturday — SoCS ‘yule/you’ll/Yulis brought to you by LindaGHill

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Now, The Return

Sassy and I met Mentor for sushi linner yesterday. It was so good to see her and catch up!

Mentor wanted to know all about my new job and how I like full-time employment. I was excited to get to talk about it. I don’t know why everyone doesn’t ask me stuff like that instead of things like, “Have you seen my unicorn leggins?” or “What’s the low overnight?” but I for damn sure appreciate her asking.

It’s an adjustment. For all of us. Like everything else in life, it has good and bad points.

I miss naps. Aww. However, I am too busy to get tired at work, and I sure do fall asleep faster at night. Maybe if I do this long enough, I’ll become a good sleeper. I’ve never been a good sleeper — GOALS!

I don’t have as much time.
I don’t take as many pictures, read as many books, or devote as much time to social media.
I’ve not been to the gym as much.
I think some of this will be rectified after Friday, when the madness of Christmas slows.

Did I mention I get to wear jeans at work? My jeans have met my work tops and we’re all of us thrilled about it.
How does my Kelly green blazer look with jeans? Frickin fantastic, I can’t lie.

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Taxiing children is now performed more equally between The Mister and myself, but also from student drivers and other parents.
Sassy seems to like it fine. Moo prefers us. I would have thought the other way around, but life is full of surprises.

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Who works all day and comes home to cook?
Meh, I’ll cook some nights, only simple dishes. Sometimes when it’s 7:00 and my husband asks what’s for dinner, I might sometimes say, “I dunno. Whatcha cookin?”

It reminds me of why I chose to stay home in the first place. Have you taught kindergarten all day and then come home to care for a four and six year old? Many people have, but um, that was not the life for me.

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It also reminds me of times I worked full-time when all four were too little to care for themselves. These were not nice times in our marriage. I’d like to say that it’s just because money was tight, (hence the working) but that’s not exactly true. It’s that my husband, like anyone, would not like to work all day and come home to help with homework, start dinner, do laundry, and feed the baby.

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For all these years I’ve been, as they say, ‘spoiled at home’ trust you me, he’s been spoiled, too.

EX:
I pack myself a lil lunch, how I do.
He’d never eat a cup of yogurt and an orange for lunch. I’d have to peel his orange and make him a yogurt parfait. And where’s the meat?!?
He’d never eat an Asian pear and a coupla hunks of Swiss for lunch. He’d eat it if I cut it all up and brought him a pretty plate of it — but like, as an app. Before the meat!
I’m an easier feed, so I feed me. Some cherry tomatoes, a string cheese, slice of ham, olives. Perfectly suitable lunch for Joeys. I sent The Mister a photo of my lunch, and he said he’d like that, BUT ON BREAD.
When we have vittles, I still make him a fine lunch, but when we don’t, well, they have a cafeteria at his work. He won’t starve.
Now, I believe he appreciates his delicious lunches more than he used to.

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I told Mentor I cannot be wife who makes bank while being wife who cooks elaborate foods, and she asked me which wife I prefer being.
“THIS ONE.”

Now. Not before. It’s because Now. Now my girls are quite capable. Now they’re much more self-sufficient. Plus, they’re like their mama, and are perfectly content to nom a nosh.

I told my husband, “You remember what it was like when I lived alone. I’d graze all day, and if I was hungry at night, I’d steam some veggies, make some pbj, eat some cereal.”
“But you’re not single.”
SIGH.
but i’m not a housewife, either

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I know women (like Mentor) who get up with the rooster and cook hot breakfast for their families before going to work. I consider that a kind of madness I’ve been fortunate to avoid. Like whatever syndrome it is that causes people to get up and jog before work. These are not my people. Cannot relate.

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I’ll never regret a single day of stay-home motherhood. I didn’t want to work when they were small. Sure, there were times I missed work, to be someone called Jolene and not Mama. There were times I felt lost, and even martyred. (What mother hasn’t?)

There were even times I envied my husband his commute. Traffic? You mean peaceful solitude?
Colleagues? You mean people who have mastered building blocks?

Oh all the people, rotating around me — I held the center. Maybe I still do.

I loved being home as much as possible, for there were many, many more days I was glad to be Mama and not Jolene. Grateful to be with my children on field trips, home with them on breaks, caring for them when they were sick, watching them discover the world. And to do it so often in pajamas and sweats.

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Still, how sweet it is … you guys, this will sound odd, but it’s like I’m young again. I get up and go to work all day. It’s not something I do half-day to pad the coffers and get my feet wet, it’s legit what I do, ferreal. I really haven’t felt that way since I was 25. Strange sense of self-importance. That’s what it is. Familiar, from a younger memory, a former mindset:
“Can’t. Gotta work.”

I resent this time of year for how early it’s dark. I never quite get used to it. Even when I worked part-time, I didn’t like drivin home after dark, feelin anxious, feelin like it’s 10:00. The light will return and it’ll get better. Until it gets dark again.

But! Work = Money, and it’s not like I’d rather sleep at work and avoid the dark drive home, so …

Have I mentioned I don’t have anxiety at work? Never have. It’s a good thing. It’s rewarding to be focused, intellectually stimulated, productive, with constant measured results. Being home all the time again in the months between jobs, anxiety tried to make a decent comeback. No, thanks, Anxiety.

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I’m sure by now you’ve gathered I’m excited about my new chapter. It’s something I knew I would do, when I was ready, and in that way alone, it’s satisfying. The Return.

I stand by my theory that you can have it all, but you can’t have it all at the same time.

Do you have a lot of experience with new chapters? Do you like the wrap-ups?Are you on the threshold of somethin old made new again?

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Slap and Tickle

Quite often, I straddle my husband on the sofa. Sometimes it’s flirty, sure, but mostly, it’s just comforting.
Sometimes it’s like this:

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Imagine my surprise when the other day, The Mister straddled ME.

I gotta tell ya, it wasn’t the same. Twas neither sexy nor comforting.

He couldn’t wrap himself around me. His arms are longer than my seated body. He couldn’t rest his head on my shoulder. He had to bend himself in half to put his head on mine. It was more like he did push-ups: kiss-me-not, kiss me, kiss-me-not, kiss me.

I couldn’t hold him as he holds me, or get a good grip on his non-existent hips.

Motorboating left me with a mouth full of plaid.

For quality time, I do not recommend it. For a few laughs, I highly recommend it!

Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — Old Times Two

Relying on my door savings account today.

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My nephew went to SomePlaces, Europe sometime last spring and took this picture. I got it from him in June and am just now sharing it, so it’s old times two. I dunno what it is or where it is. No history to share. Please don’t go all Identify-That-Bird-Crazy and fight with one another about where or what it is.

What’s interesting to me is that Simon is not a door connoisseur, nor does he know about my love for #ThursdayDoors — He was simply a young man traveling and he thought this door was interesting enough to photograph.

(Most of Simon’s photos were of food, because he’s good people, y’all.)

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link and find the frog.

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Do Not Adjust Your Speed

I work again now. That’s why I’m so sporadic here. Or everywhere, whatever. I’m not gonna blog about my job, but I’ll tell you it’s the same job I had before, not that that’s helpful, since I never wrote about my work, but if you were one of the people who knew my old job, my new job is like that, still non-disclosure-agreement-y. Yay! No introvert wants to blog about her job, BUT! I work twice as many hours and make four times as much money and I get to wear jeans every day which feels sooo naughty since I haven’t had a jean job since I was twenty-fuckin four.

Like I said, new field of practice — inundation of learning. Brain at max capacity. Whoosh.

I drink chamomile tea all day and I still come home wired for sound.

Except when I don’t, because sometimes I taxi people and parent away from home…

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i’ve decided i’m okay with the internet seeing this much of my daughter before her formal

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and this much of her swimming

…and then sometimes on top of work and momming, I gotta push around a grocery cart and when I get home, I just wanna flop my perfectly round ass down and eat a goddamned sammich in peace because I am only one woman!

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And why on earth was I eating pastrami? Why did I want red meat and brine? Cause the full moon in Gemini was so majestic, like any good witch would, I bled like the earth needed the iron.
What could be better than bleeding to death at one’s new job?

Margaritas.

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jesss, margarita, come to mama

Then we had two birthdays, which meant five girls, two cakes, and a lot of ice cream. It was festive — all week festive! The wrapping paper stayed on the dining room table for DAYS. I walked by, cake in hand, for DAYS.

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fourteen candles for moo moo

Birthdays with swim meets and a new job! Oh, and well checks for the teens, a new doctor and back-to-back appointments.

But wait, there’s more! The holidays are upon us and that means all the orchestra rehearsals and concerts, too! Handel’s Messiah, the Hallelujah Chorus, for one. Even we pagan heathen Unitarians love us some Hallelujah Chorus.

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A relaxing weekend at home went well until I heeded my dryer’s buzz and smelled gas instead of soapy goodness. The leaky gas line has been capped and now we wait for repair. (Really The Mister waits, but you know we all want repair.) Until then, it’s space heaters and boiling water for baths. Monday morning made worse.

This week, every day but Friday has something booked, too. From what I’ve read, many of you are slammed as well.

This is all to say, I very much enjoy my life, however, it’s been BUSY BUSY BUSY!

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The Least Sensible Thing You’ll Read Today

***Apart from the news, anyway.

 

I can’t finish a blog post to save my life.
I wish y’all could peruse my beginnings and be like, “I’ll have that one, please.”
One day I’ll finish them, I really will.

Today I’ll just tell you random tidbit things. The sort of things that aren’t really worthy of a blog post.
Of course, that’s sorta my thing, isn’t it? To take a thing and analyze it and enhance it and make it into a thing big enough for a whole blog.

Sometimes this works backwards.

I have three daughters, but they’re each about three different people, which is like having nine daughters, but with fewer shoes. It reminds me of the faces we put on to meet the faces, which I have an unfinished post about and I never can remember that line unless I start from the very beginning of the poem and I don’t have time for that, either.

We’re all every woman, it’s all in us, we do it naturally. Or with great training and practice.

My sweater is scratchy. Someone else washed this sweater, and I’m pretty sure they just slapped it up to dry right out of the washer. If I had time, I do believe I could stand this sweater up without me like a centerpiece on the coffee table.
I am thankful someone else washed it, and that I have it to wear, because when I looked at the weather this morning, it was in the teens. Yay, scratchy blue sweater.

I am the lady in blue today. Got my blue scarf, my blue jeans, and I’m wearin blue suede shoes, even though I’m not an Elvis person, I’m a Beatles person — C’mon, blue suede shoes are divine.

I also keep tryin to type begininng. Don’t ask me why. I like to rememeber and Speptember too, so maybe it’s a B thing. B is for yellow jackets, right? No yellow jackets now. Too cold. Thank tacos.

So, how are you? You follow? You dig? You smile cause it’s Friday now. I shall sing One Day More from Les Mis “One more dawn! One more day! One day moooore!” as I head out into the world, for tomorrow, I LOUNGE like a lizard. And finish blogs.

Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — Chad at Gregory’s

You know how sometimes you’re exhausted of Macy’s on a December Saturday, and you’re on your way to pick up pho and taro bubble tea because for some reason your husband wanted Vietnamese cuisine midday?
No?
You know how sometimes you wanna feast on some delicious Russian cuisine, but also, you wanna listen to live blues or classical music while you eat it?
No?
Well then there’s nothing here for you.

I was tired of the shopping, as I was born tired of shopping, and I was a lil bit hangry and I was drivin to pho when I saw this place. It’s in one of the strips in the mall parking lot. (Where pho is, but not, because I can’t find pho unless I’m ON 82nd Street, because people were all “It’s 1986! Let’s make the buildings all look the same!”)

Anyway, this place fits a real specific niche.

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That caught my attention. I was doin a drive-by, cause I knew y’all wanted to see this, but I didn’t wanna get out of the car AGAIN.

As I crept up on the door, a man came out and introduced himself as Chad. He had long hair and wore a fancy yarmulke, so I wasn’t expecting him to be a Chad. Chad told me he appreciated my promotion, and he was glad I liked the door.

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He said sometime, I need to come in and eat.

“Will do,” I said, only half meaning it. You know, in that introvert comfort creature kinda way — if i ever wanna try something new, and if i feel like putting on pants and a bra and shoes and if i’ve got enough energy to leap into public spaces with live music, i will certainly keep your place in mind.

I looked it up online. Rave reviews for the food and the hospitality. Menu got me like Oh Yes, Thanks!
So yes, Chad, I will actually come in and eat. Perhaps on date night.

That’s the thing about doors, we always wanna know what’s behind them.

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link and find the frog.

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Argumenting

Sometimes at night, I’ll hear the girls in another room, chattering. If I pass by, I might hear them dispensing advice or sayin something sweet. These are private moments. It’s the kind of thing that makes parents smile and think awww.

I’m not supposed to know anything about this super secret sibling stuff.

In front of me, it’s competition and irritation.

They get along better than the older two did, but there’s still plenty of conflict. The things siblings say to one another during a fight? I have never said anything like that to anyone in my whole life, and I’m not exactly known for bein nice.

I want them to solve their own problems, so early on I told them, “Work it out!”

Also, I want peace and quiet.

I’ve tried to explain how very fortunate they are, how siblings are wonderful, how God has given them one another, how amazing this relationship is.

Much like I do with any child having the audacity to claim boredom, if they bicker too much, I give them chores to do. Chores are the ultimate weapon in my parenting arsenal. Attitude adjustments, I call them.
“Oh you think your sister should choke on her emo music and die? Well then, while she’s doin that, you can pick up all the sticks in the front yard.”
“Perhaps you’ll find the will to apologize in the odd sock basket.”
“This topic would be better discussed while y’all clean baseboards, wouldn’t it?”

This has proven effective. Now, I see only the beginning of fights. I’m sure there are whispered tussles in the back of the car, silent feuds in public, and rage when no one else is around — I dunno, a few times, I’ve come home to a house empty of words and full of bad juju.

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i love this guy’s comic. he gets me.

“Are you fighting? You’re not fighting are you?”
“No no, we’re not fighting,” they say, and then they share a hostile fake hug for my benefit.

Recently, this happened:

“Hey. Hey! Are you fighting?”
“No.”
“We’re argumenting. If you think this is how we fight, then you haven’t seen us fight. It isn’t like this.”
“Right? It’s basically me screaming at Moo, eyes full of angry tears, while she sits there with her clenched jaw and dead eyes.”
“Oh, so like Daddy and me.”
“MMHM.”

I had a lil chuckle, cause it’s like sometimes The Mister and I don’t even recognize how very fortunate we are, how God has given us one another, how amazing and wonderful this relationship is.

Hmm, maybe peace really does begin with me.

Wishing you all a peaceful day.

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