Not too long ago, I had a nightmare about oversized Transformers taking over the world. Imagine the eyes on the cover of Gatsby, but as robotic eyes looming over the horizon. Gleaming silver feet the size of my house, about to crush my babiest of babies, missing her by mere inches.
…
Nightmares about robots are not unusual for me. Manifestation of my perception that too much of humanity is inhumane. Rather than seeing myself as too delicate for this world, my innermost voice tells me it’s the others who are missing hearts. Empty tin people, roaming the earth off-kilter, unflinching and soulless.
They don’t see like I do, they don’t hear like I do, they don’t think like I do, and they don’t feel like I do. I overcame the idea that I somehow got all their extras, yet I still contend I hold more than can be contained. All this love and hope has a purpose, but it’s not of me, not from me or for me, so I create and teach and heal, spilling words and tears and when I start to feel withholding, I seek the beauty of green trees and gray skies and music I cannot make.
Robots don’t do that.
…
I awoke as I swept my child from the underside of the Transformer’s metal foot. Panicked and crying, I knew how I reached that level of fear and anxiety.
Brain movies are convincing.
As I lay there drenched in sweat, body aching with tension, heart racing, tears streaming, my husband telling me it was okay, I realized, almost everyone actually knows what a panic attack feels like.
Which, witch and what now? *looks at the prompt again* Wich. Well I didn’t even know that was a word. Thanks, Linda. I’ve learned three new words today, which makes me happy, although I am already happy because I am so spoiled, er, I mean, cherished, and also sleeplessness adds a bit of that euphoria.
When ordering coffee in the evening, IT IS CRUCIAL TO REMEMBER TALL DECAF CARAMEL MACCHIATO. Can you tell which word is most important? See, what happened was, I was too tired to remember to order properly. oh, hello 3am, i haven’t seen you in a long time. how’ve you been? dull? yes.
Hey, at least I remembered to buy beans while I was there.
The Mister took Sassy to the thing this morning and I didn’t have to get up until 9 to go pick her up, by which time, The Mister had already gone to the grocery store and made the GOOD coffee. He remembered I was out of Rice Krispies even though I didn’t, which marks a very special time in our marriage.
Yesterday he told me it’s my job to remember all the things and if I don’t remember all the things then neither of us will ever know anything.
I haven’t had enough sleep this week, so I’m sorry if I can’t remember which street the parking garage is on, Market or Pennsylvania.
“Just drive down Pennsylvania, it’ll be on the right. Oh look, it’s on the corner of Market and Penn!”
I didn’t remember who the third composer was, or which country the violinist is from, or which Bach concerto he played.
I don’t remember which composers committed suicide. Did I ever even know that???
I don’t remember which conductor The Mister preferred, although I remember his face.
Yes, those are just a few of the things my husband expected me to remember last night.
I can’t remember that which he expected me to remember yesterday during the day at the time we had the conversation about how I have to remember all the things.
Mind like a steel trap, needs oil in the form of sleep.
As I put my eggs in the tortillas, I saw there were only a few left and so I asked Moo, “Didja eat already?” and OH HOW SHE LAUGHED!
“Mama!”
“What?!?”
“You just asked me if I ate, and then if I ate enough and I told you yes both times!”
“Oh. I totally don’t remember that.” does that mean i didn’t ask sassy if she ate? I walked around the corner to peek on Sassy, who was eating. Right.
I contend the present time is the best in which to nap.
With any luck, when I wake up I will remember which kid goes where at which time, and to take the roast out of the oven before I leave. And to turn off the oven. And to pass out monies.
See, how can I even be me and not have anxiety disorder? Which Joey would that be? Why, she’d be locked out of her house while it burns down, probably without shoes or a phone, while her kids are abandoned elsewhere, crying because she forgot them.
Stream of Consciousness Saturday — SoCS ‘which/witch/wich’ is brought to you by LindaGHill
Oof, this has been a long, long week! Five o’clock mornings got me strung-out like taffy. Such a blur, I’m glad I took pictures.
Lotta fun stuff this week.
The Mister hadda bust out some channel locks to get Moo’s gelato open. Sassy Googled for solutions and there’s a hilarious Reddit thread on the subject. Apparently, this is a sincere first-world problem.
Personally, I opened mine yesterday by turning it upside down on the floor, putting my foot on it, and then using both my hands to break the seal with a butter knife. It is worth the work.
Caught a photo of Chubby Squirrel’s baby eating our bread heel. He’s always getting treats, some he buries, some he takes to the tree. We love watching him nibble.
Fried Green Tomatoes, for the humans.
And lazy day pie, which is more a cobbler, but who am I to argue? Put it in my mouth!
The Mister played with Sassy’s Snapchat. You may remember him from selfies like this?
This shot was a dog filter.
I hope.
Cletus couldn’t resist bathing on the clean shirts I had yet to press.
Have y’all had this? I wanna try the mandarin, but the lime is super yummy. 79¢ a bottle.
It finally got cold. I finally turned on the heat. I’ve finally worn my barn jacket.
It finally looks like low-key fall.
Does this dog make my butt look warm?
A few other happy things to mention:
There’s talk of upperclassmen carpooling underclassmen for the am practices. I promise if that happens I will appreciate 7am in a whole new way. Okay, I may never appreciate 7am, but I will still be grateful it’s not 5am.
Says right here, Libras need to carpool.
Poor, poor Pisces. Tsk. I was sure it’d be a Stingray.
Sunday, I’m meeting Mentor for lunch and I get to pick the place! I should prolly not call her Mentor anymore, cause she’s no longer my mentor, well I dunno, maybe she still is in a way, but we don’t work there anymore… Still, that’s who she is here on the blog, and consistency is important, so we’re all cool with that, right? Right. Mentor. Lunch. Sunday. Woot!
As we all headed to bed, Sassy commented on the weight of being the youngest cellist, “I’ve never been so judgely harshed.”
“Judgely harshed?” I laughed.
“YES! You guys, I need to use the sleep!”
As I mentioned, I went to schools six times yesterday. The Mister did the last of it, saving me one round-trip. Woot!
I got Sadie’s pill and met a whole new dog at the vet. I dunno what kinda dog it was — if a pibble took a lot of steroids and did a lot of lifting, leash like a tow chain. Enormous head at my hip, tiny ears. Beautiful, happy beast, whatever it was. I would like to meet new happy dogs every day, wouldn’t you?
Then I picked up three kids from two schools. I decided to serve the soup so they had dinner at a reasonable hour (eat faster!) then off we went again. I had to drop two kids a bit early so I could get to a meeting.
See, I was supposed to attend an informational meeting, but since I attended that very same meeting a year ago, and I was basically an empty shell of person, I decided it was not necessary. I went to the meeting early and walked up to the speaker all, “Hello. I so enjoyed your presentation last year, but I would like to go home now. If I could get the registration info, that’d be great.”
“Sure,” he said, handing me the papers.
“Thank you.”
I felt the eyes of a hundred parents on my back as I left. Mom Level:PRO
I went home and found myself with two glorious hours to enjoy before bedtime!
I went to bed at 9:30. 9:30! I know my bed was concerned.
I fell asleep around 11 and woke up this morning minutes before my 5am alarm. I did that thing where yes it’s still dark, but did I oversleep?
This morning is wet and cool, and smells like fall. Mmm fall! Orange and yellow leaves dot the shiny pavement everywhere.
not like this. this old leaf from last month. is too dark to show you today’s.
I’ll get Moo off to school and then I have big plans to be at home until I collect Sassy. I’m going to iron and do laundry and bake a lazy day pie. Maybe give myself a lil mani pedi attention. Maybe snap some pics.
The Mister is going to bring home ingredients for tacos. Then we will all be together, eating the tacos. Together. At home.
I’ve already given this Tuesday credit for probably being better than yesterday. If Tuesday wants to impress me, it should offer me a new dog to pet. Course, this dog makes me smile the most.
y’all, it’s so early, sadie isn’t even ready to come out of her crate
How’d you survive your Monday? You think this Tuesday has potential or nah?
Up at O Dark Thirty cause I got a kid who’s like I know I’m an honor student and the only freshman cellist in symphony, but I also want to be a swimming and diving champion, because exercise is good for stress. Hey, do you have any volunteer work available? I don’t feel adequate pressure about being the very best me I can be. I’m halfway to thirty! Does this student planner make me look sleepless enough? Also, got any carbs? I’ve only consumed 2500 calories and a liter of water and I’ve got the PSAT and a two-hour rehearsal tonight…
Gee, I can’t imagine why so many kids are anxious and depressed.
I’m not complaining about anything other than the early morning. Lack of sleep is bad for my anxiety.
The Mister and I get it, cause we’re Type A.
These things manifest in assorted ways. You wouldn’t suspect his Type A-ness at home. Around here, he’s basically a sofa-sitting chocolate-eating depressive who snarks til we all pee our pants with laughter.
At work, well, “BUT WAS IT PERFECT, KAREN?”
Meanwhile, I’m sincerely trying to relax, but I don’t know how and I have to pee again and I wanted the soda but there were 35 milligrams of caffeine in it and I’m not shaking, the earth is moving! And now I won’t be relaxed until ten minutes before my alarm goes off the next morning.
I’m funny in that way that’s like, “What’s beeping? Oh shit, I think the pies are on fire! Hey, did anyone give the cats dinner?” Then I give the cats dinner, and I see dust bunnies under the baker’s rack and well, since I’ve got a broom in hand, may as well sweep the back hallway and since I’m in the hallway, may as well throw in a load of wash, and since I’m already in the back of the house, maybe I’ll…
Really, what is relaxing? You mean like meditation? I meditate. Non? Not like that?
How much were The Mister and I home during high school? Uh, about never.
I remember one time in high school, I helped my mother fold laundry — not my laundry, mind you, I did my own laundry — but I helped her fold her laundry. It shocked the shit out of her, and she thought I was buttering her up for something. In reality I needed her to drive me somewhere and I knew she wasn’t gonna leave the laundry to wrinkle, because like mother like daughter, so you know, if I wanted to get there, I had to step up and fold with her. I couldn’t very well scream, “Fold faster, Woman!”
*achem*
I will drive to schools Five More Times today. One of those is a combined trip, though, so that’s nice. Isn’t that nice?
Dinner is at 9pm.
Course, we should really all be in bed by 9pm, on accounta the O Dark Thirty and all…
Coffee.
Okay.
No, not like that, clap your hands like a cheerleader.
OKAY!
I’d love to show you beautiful pictures of the fall foliage, but that ain’t happenin yet. A bit, here and there, but my world is not yet ablaze with autumn. It’s gonna be 77 today, so it doesn’t feel like fall or smell like fall and that’s okay, cause at least I don’t live in Georgia!
Apropos to nothing, I woke up this mornin to photo prompt Right Now and so I share with you what life was like when I sat up in bed.
Does anyone know how to turn off the dog’s green glowing eyes? I filtered them to make them less creepy, but I’d really like to know if there’s a simple trick, because Sadie is not, as the girls suggested, ghost dog, demon dog, or werewolf dog. She is dog of big brown eyes.
I could tell you about balsamic and basil that seasoned last night’s bruschetta
But what I really want to tell you is that I’ve entered a new season of life. I’ve been in similar seasons before, but this is a new one. SEASON OF YOU NEED A BIGGER CALENDAR (Again)
For a long time, I used little daily calendars. I was once one person with a cat. Then I had kids and babies so I moved to medium calendar like I use now. Then the kids got bigger and I moved to large calendars. Then the big kids grew up and I went back to medium calendars.
Medium calendar isn’t cutting it this fall.
I need to go back to large calendar.
See how clean next month is?
That’s because that’s what I know so far. Papaw and I will have birthdays. Moo has early rehearsal, I gotta get to the vet before they close for turkey. TURKEY! That’s all I know. But it’s comin. Calendar inundation!
5am drop offs
5pm pick ups
7pm rehearsals
When is Thanksgiving Break? I dunno.
When are the meets? I dunno.
Are there concerts for Veteran’s Day? You betcha.
Oh it’s all comin.
I hate it. I do. I hate it because it says to me, “Joey, your plans are very bra-and-shoe-oriented. Much alarm clock.”
BUT! I have done this before so I know my kids are worth all the driving and one day they’ll catch rides and drive and they’ll breeze in and out on their own.
AND! While I taxi these two, I don’t have two littles to cart around as well.
But the 2018 calendar needs to be big enough to hold this season in my life.
No one who knows me would ever say I’m easy on my kids. No one. Yet, they behave better for their father.
Do I treat them like Marines or royal subjects? No. I’m a bitch, but they are my children and I love them blah blah blah.
*totally says Blah blah blah*
The Mister’s not always been around and so I’ve had to resort to phones and webcams at times, but even then, they mind him better. OVER THE PHONE.
“…And he’s tickling her and she’s screaming and she runs away and then he swoops her back up and then he tickles her and then she screams again and she runs away and then she runs right back to him! Clearly the baby wants to be tickled! Sassy, take the jump rope off your sister’s waist! Sissy, really! Don’t encourage her! Sissy is not your pony! I don’t care if you mind, I mind! Gonna get rope burn! And now Sassy’s practically force-feeding carrots to Sissy and she’s gonna choke! It’s not funny! SASSY BUTTON MOTTERN, naughty chair! Now! Bubba, SO HELP ME GOD, don’t you dare tickle the pony!…”
To solve this problem on my own, there was only one option, which was to completely freak them out, scare them with my crazed Mama eyes. I’d be crying, laughing, swearing, praying to the ceiling, speaking assorted languages, then I’d middle name them all and send them to their rooms.
I’d done this before, authentically, from exhaustion, and I was so pleased with the resulting scatter of feet down the upstairs hallway, I added it to my repertoire.
For Emergencies Only. Lil silence, lil wine, lil book, tra-la-la!
The Mister could discipline them OVER THE PHONE.
Just stern, “Son” and “Young Lady” in those fatherly tones and they’d simmer down. Half the time, they’d snivel and return to me with apologies and hugs.
I hated it. So unfair.
I’ve heard this is because children know their mothers love them unconditionally, and more than anything they crave their fathers’ approval.
I’ve noticed that if the kids want somethin about which Daddy isn’t inclined, they come to me like I’m the ambassador of Daddy. They suddenly possess tact and they employ this diplomacy to cultivate my sympathy for their causes.
You know I’m right.
Boys go about it indirectly.
“I told Dad how I can’t take Missy yet, because I want to keep extra money in savings, and he said ‘That’s too bad, Buddy’ so I guess I’ll just wait and see how it goes.”
GOT IT.
“He’s such a good boy, hardly asks for a thing, we should just pay his pet deposit, make it easier for everyone.”
“Yes. I could do that.”
“Mmmhm, that’d be nice.”
I had less say in the workings of Bubba’s life because I am not a man and I am too soft on the boy.
Again, no one, no one else would ever say I was soft on the boy. He would tell you he had it the worst. He was NOT an easy child. It’s because of him I even developed a lecture series.
Still.
“You never wanted a hair cut at his age, either. Let it be.”
“And my father made me get a haircut and my son’s getting a fucking haircut!”
The girls have that whole “Daaaddyy” thing down. When “Daaaddyy” followed by a request doesn’t work it triggers an alarm system in their brains.
Mama’s feminine wiles are stronger and since Mama says “It’s only hair,” she’s already on their side, right?
“You know how you say it’s only hair? Can you maybe talka Daddy?”
When it’s the girls, I am not accused of bein too soft. See how that works?
(It may be The Mister has seriously strong opinions about everyone’s hair, now that I think about it. Hmm. Did not see that comin. Writing is important.)
Recently, this happened:
“We’re goin to the gym.”
“I’m doin homework.”
“You’re goin to the gym.”
“I have homework.”
“You’re goin to the gym.”
“I have at least seven hours of homework.”
“You lie. Mama Daddy already discussed it and you’re goin to the gym.”
(I lie. Mama and Daddy did not discuss this per se. We agreed she needs to run at least once a week at the gym, because she’s a runner.)
SILENCE. She did not argue. She put her trainers on and scowled at me, but she went to the gym.
The Mister’s power has grown so strong and his name is so powerful, I can invoke him like a parental deity. I don’t hate it as much as I used to. It’s unfair, but it works.
These people, and I mean all four of these people, have worn me out over the years. Truly, sucked the mercy from my bones like marrow. A mama does what she must.
joeyfullystated 
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