The Mister and I haven’t seen our children since we kissed them goodbye before school yesterday morning.
There have been no interruptions.
I know someone out there is reading this and asking WHY are you blogging when you have time alone with your husband?
People used to ask me this all the time when The Mister would return from wherever the army sent him. The expectation was that we should be all up in our togetherness. The reality is that we just wanted to get back to our norm.
For one thing, when he’d come home, he’d be exhausted. Food, shower, sex, food, sleeeeeeeep. Periodic daytime sleep for days and days.
Flying is tiring, combat zones are stressful. Weeks of training in the desert or in a southern forest are hard on a body.
Imagine coming home to a house full of children after long periods of time with only adults.
He’d bring home a certain level of adrenaline and exhaustion that only time could cure.
When he was away, I’d live like a single parent. I write that lightly, because what I did wasn’t as hard as single parenting, but it was like that.
We all had to adjust, always.
So yes, this interruption in our date weekend is brought to you by our norm. We’re definitely one of those couples that can be together 24/7 and not get sick of one another. After the military, he didn’t work for five months, so we had five months of 24/7 and we were happy. I think this might be because we know how to be together without being all up in our togetherness.
We had coffee and cookies, a night at the symphony, late dinner, cocktails, time in bed…
We’re perfectly content at the moment. I’m writing this. I don’t know what he’s doing, I’ll ask.
“Baby, what’re you doing?”
“Just scannin the Facebook.”
*nods*
Pretty typical for 1:30 Saturday afternoon.
Sometimes we rub our feet together and make the googly eyes, but we do that when our kids are here, too.
This week one of my teens and her friends were addressed by a teacher who said, “Watch your language. I know you think it’s cool to swear and you’re trying to impress people, but watch your language.”
My child informed me of this and I screwed up my face and asked, “What the fuck? Impress people? When I want to impress people, I don’t swear.”
“I know, right?”
We shook our heads in mutual agreement. Sad stuff, y’all.
I was a skosh surprised at the offending student. Said student’s mother reads all her social media and doesn’t approve of my spawns’ word choices. My kids are smart enough to not swear in front of teachers. And Mamaws. And helicopter parents. And any other adult who might would gasp.
The language of power is not what we speak here at home.
If you’ve read me for any length of time, you understand that conversations in my family are not … easily understood. Swearing is the least of it.
I arrive home to find Sassy and Sadie wigglin their butts at the door, ready for lubbins.
“Howdy do Button?”
“Merp.”
“Aww, huggles.”
“How was day?”
“Office Max coupons don’t work on the Staples site.”
“Heh. Yeah.”
“And your Thursday?”
“Bio bish closed my computer during work time. I was listening to Brahms.”
“That bitch is sour. When y’all leave that school, Imma write a email, CC it to admin, be like, ‘You’re not a good enough person to work with young people. Your heart is hard. You have forgotten why you teach.’ AND I WILL PRESS SEND.”
“Like in OA, when she say you forgot your reason.”
“Oh mhm. Like that.”
Moo comes in, demands hugs. I hold Moo for however long she needs it, cause soon as the hug and head kisses stop, she’ll start prattlin on about real problems, like her kneebow and why she’s pissed about the missin chair and had to climb the freakin cubbies again and her jeans aren’t cottony enough and how she lost her manga balm, you see what happened was, while studying pergolas in algebra, and Seth has the cutest gay floof, but he should not have gone with blue, it makes him look sick AF.
The Mister comes home, “Damn, Baby, I thought I’d never make it home!”
Sadie drops her bone and offers up her belly. We all kneel to pet the puppy.
Ain’t nothin to see here, people.
Stop worryin about my kids swearin and teach your own. Jeez.
Otherwise, they may rebel with foul language and try to impress people with it. *rolls eyes* When, ever in your life, have you used foul language to impress anyone? Can you imagine?
That’s how I know who my people are. That’s my keepin it real.
Let’s test that Swear to Impress theory. And throw in some honesty.
“Y’all need a babysitter? I’m hellagood at babysittin. I love kids. Not my little sister, she’s a bitch, but like, other kids. I even got my CPR certification and shit. Call me.”
“Oh my God, your university is my absolute favorite! If you let me in, I will work my ass off for the whole four years, I promise!”
“So I get that this internship is unpaid, but it comes with some fuckin perks, right?”
“I been workin at the goddamn banana stand for two years and I’m ready for a job with a chair and access to a bathroom.”
“Yeah, I’m callin to get my credit limit raised? No, no income increase, no. Still a broke ass bitch. I need a washer and dryer. I’m too damn tired to keep draggin all my shit to the coin laundry, you know?”
“Who do I hafta fuck to get a mortgage around here?”
You ever get promoted for outstanding cussing? Fuck no you didn’t.
No. No one is swearing to impress people. That is not a thing.
YOUR ASSESSMENT IS INVALID.
People like that are the ones who say things like Fiddlesticks, and no one trusts Fiddlesticks. Ain’t nothin honest about Fiddlesticks.
As the rains continue to drown Indianapolis, let’s look back on a sunny day in Oaklandon, wherein Sassy and I took a stroll after visiting the death of a beloved park. No, the rain doesn’t depress me, I just really loved that park.
It was so sunny that day I couldn’t even see what I was photographing. Mmhm. I have a lot of these — this is THE BEST ONE.
Cute blue shed is cute. So cute, even its hardware is trusting.
Coupla houses with doors NOT on the sunny side — Sunnyside. Heh. That’s a locale pun. Only a local can heh to that.
This is some sorta used-to-be church with beautiful lines that houses offices now.
Also, it has lovely windows.
Oaklandon Unitarian Universalist Church
Shout out to all my fellow UUers! Bout five of you, yeah?
Sadie’s bottom and floofy tail really add some life, I think.
Another placard fail; I tried to put enough color and contrast into the dates to read them, but I could not. I went to their site and read about fires and how they raised funds to rebuild, and it would seem to be actually established in 1838 and rebuilt again after two fires in 1920 and 1925. If you’re into history, it’s a good lil read entitled “The Little Church That Could.”
The building is recognized by state and national historic registers.
The Mister locked his keys in his car yesterday at work. My husband seems to do this more than other people, but not chronically. I went about twenty years between — both times in my own driveway, because I am very special.
Ironically, I have asked The Mister to carry the spare set of keys because I’m afraid this very thing will happen to me. But instead it happened to him.
He was not carrying the spare set, so I had to go to his work.
He works about 4381929 hyperbolic miles and 284932308 exaggerated traffic circles away — AND WEST.
I was not excited.
Since The Roundabout Incident last summer, I have been finding MORE traffic circles, and they are not my friends. I have been trying to adjust, but they are not my friends.
I remind you, I live in THE CIRCLE CITY and lived directly off a traffic circle for seven years. While I am not uncomfortable in every single traffic circle, many of these newfangled ones are gloriously filled with fuckery.
What’s in my brain while I drive through the newfangled traffic circles:
Screams. Just screams. Sometimes I vocalize them.
Do you know that feeling when you want to take a sedative so you can drive, but you can’t take a sedative because you hafta drive?!?
I clicked the address to his work and pressed Directions and then Go. Off I went, norther and norther and wester and wester still.
I needed to go north on Meridian, but one cannot exit the interstate and head north there. It’s part of the city’s new fuck-you-make-a-u-turn agenda. I was about to make this u-turn when navigation tried to send me east.
“Head east on 96th Street.”
“No.”
“Head east on 96th Street.”
“NO! That’s not right, Siri!”
(What, you don’t talk to your GPS?)
I turned her volume off and pulled into a parking lot. The meddling map app in my super-smart phone was obviously deluded. Do you know what it had done? At some point, it decided it was the time of day I go to work, so it altered the address to accommodate me. It was trying to send me to my job at go-to-job time. How fucking thoughtful.
I went back into The Mister’s text, clicked the address again. Directions. Go.
“Turn right onto Meridian Street.”
“Okay.”
After much traffic-circling I arrived. I gave him the spare set of keys.
He sure did look handsome, walkin out to my car. I thought, if i wasn’t married to him, i’d totally want soma that. His power over me is strong. so handsome i’d drive to carmel for you, baby.
The Mister and I discussed whether I should leave left or right. He suggested left, with fewer traffic circles. He reminded me “465 EAST.”
“Right.”
I typed in my work address, chose the left option, and headed out.
“Enter the traffic circle and take the second turn to US 31 South.”
“Okay.”
There was no sign for US 31 South and the second turn was Main St.
I took Main St.
But I could see US 31 South. AS I PASSED IT. I planned to turn around.
Siri had a similar opinion.
“Complete the traffic circle to change directions.”
“Right on.”
But then, some asshat tried to crash me in the roundabout! I was in the outer lane and he was on the inner lane and he exited in front of me.
“No car! No! Bad driver! Bad!”
joey doodle for marian
I fucking hate Carmel, and roundabouts, and asshats.
Fuckfaces, the lot of you!
In case you think I am exaggerating the frequency of roundabouts in Carmel…
This photo says it’s the 100th roundabout. For a population of 86,000.
Heading west to US 31 South, there is a sign.
I exited as indicated.
Y’all, there is no sign for 465 EAST for miles. There is a sign for 465 SOUTH, and another, and another, and then finally, at the split, 465 EAST.
This is reason 904 why I think the signage in this city is terrible for out-of-towners.
I made it to work. Shaking. Visibly pallid and disturbed.
I talked to my boss about traffic circles, “Do you traffic circle well?” I asked. He assured me asshats people are not supposed to turn from the inside lane.
YA THINK!?
…
Leaving work, I stopped at the post office.
The post office has feathered parking. It’s ONE WAY.
Imagine my surprise when as I backed my car up to exit my parking space, some dickhead sped in, the wrong way, and parked beside me.
“Safety First Motherfucker!” I screamed, but he didn’t hear me, cause I wasn’t louder than my soothing classical music set to full blast.
Bonus points are given to anyone who can guess the make of the asshole’s car. Extra bonus points if you knew he wore aviator sunglasses and boasted a man bun.
I’ll be takin the scenic route to work today. Closest I can get to a sedative.
Would you rather live where it is always hot or always cold? I’ll take cold over hot any day. I do like a smattering of warm weather, I do. I just don’t need three months of it.
Snow over sunburn, always.
Do you prefer long hair or short hair for yourself?
Long, Long, Long
What is your favorite month of the year? October!
What is the easiest way for you to learn something new? By reading, by seeing and doing, in a classroom? I learn fairly well in the classroom and by written instruction. All the things one tends to learn by actually doing are the things I struggle with: math, sports, musical instruments. I’m more a visual learner and kinetically rarely works for me.
Optional Bonus question: What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up? I am grateful for my family and my pets and my bathtub and my bed. It was a restful weekend. I’m grateful for all these open-window evenings. We have made the nice snuggles. I enjoyed the sound of rain and storms over the weekend. It’s cool and windy today, which pleases me.
This week coming up, The Mister has the last of his physical-go-to-classes, and I look forward to having him home much more often. I’m looking forward to LOTS of childless couple time over the weekend, including “Ravishing Rachmaninoff” at the symphony, but also tipsy time, naked time, and omaword, we can speak without interruption time. Long live the quiet room!
Cee’s Share Your World is a weekly feature and all are invited to join in and play along.
“Okay people. Words that start with Z. Tomorrow’s the last day for A-Z so Z.”
“Zebra!” Moo suggested.
“And what will I write about zebras?”
“Uh…”
“Everyone’s going to be writing about zombies.”
“You could write about how you got sucked into The Walking Dead.”
“Already wrote about that.”
“Dang, Mama!”
“I know.”
“Zillow! The joys of searching for a home!” The Mister offered.
“Ick. No.”
“Zed,” said Sassy.
“I already wrote about zed.”
“Zenda,” she enunciated more.
“Zelda?”
“Zenda!”
“What the fuck is a zenda?”
“Oh my God, this sucks.” *types on keyboard, turns screen to me*
(Sassy’s nose is congested and she’s hoarse, so all her words have an extra special syllable when she whispers them out.)
“OH! Zen! Zen is good. Like the zen of things. Yes, I likey.”
The Mister said, “You could write about how when people come here, the house is so zen, everyone relaxes.”
“Nah, cause that sounds like bragging and people already think my life is perfect.”
Moo agreed.
He went on to say, “How about how you set up the house so it would create a calming vibe?”
“Still no.”
“Zephyrs! Zig Zag! Zygotes! Look at my enormous zygotes!” *gestures to the girls*
“Yes, so big.”
I was quiet for a while. zzz… zithromax, zimbabwe, zinnias, zippos, ziti…
“Zingers!” The Mister shouted.
“It’s you that loves Zingers, not me.”
“Not those. The snappy comments people make.”
“Oh, mmhm, hm… Maybe I’ll just write about this conversation.”
I was so glad Linda didn’t choose yurt or yeti for the prompt, but I find ‘yard’ is bittersweet.
I HAD planned to work in my yard this weekend. Specifically, to clear out my vegetable plots. That’s the work part. Then I thought I would add my traditional geraniums to the terracotta pots, and plant some impatiens along the front bed. If I still had energy, I’d add some decorative grasses.
But I won’t be doin any of that this weekend. Cause last night was all like this:
Yeah, and more of that today, and supposedly tomorrow, too. I like to garden in the rain, but not in the red.
Lawd, our grass is gonna be knee-high by Monday.
That’s the point in filling up most of the yard with perennials — there’ll be less grass to mow down the line.
As it turns out, it’s a perfect weekend for me to stay in.
I’ve made chorizo con papas and cheese omelets, and so far I’ve only stared at the yard from four different windows about twenty-two times. It can’t rain every weekend, right? RIGHT?
Stream of Consciousness Saturday — SoCS ‘yard’ is brought to you by LindaGHill
A-Z through April has me pretty desperate here at the XYZ of things FOR THE FOURTH YEAR.
Eventually I’ll be writin about xanthan gum. Mercy!
So, love it or hate it, Xanadu was influential in my childhood. Not necessarily the movie, cause even when I was young, I rolled my eyes at cheesy romance stuff, but the music, oh the music!
I was seven when my mother took me to see Xanadu.
I didn’t fall in love with the skater dude. No, me being me, I preferred Gene Kelly. To be fair, I’d already seen him in a lot of old time movies at Grandma’s house. When I was a kid, I believed people in the olden days simply didn’t have coloring, or if they did, it was subtle like old pictures, and due to my great grandmother’s portrait in an opera costume, I also believed they wore rags. I was very happy to live in color time, with blue jeans and white roller skates with pink stoppers, and —
I want to make it clear to you as it was made clear to me, I want you all to know — My father didn’t have a Rubik’s cube when he was a kid, and it was not because they didn’t have color.
I really was a peculiar kid. I know.
I read The Giver without questioning the apple and Fiona’s hair, though.
Speaking of hair, the ribbons in Olivia Newton John’s hair!
Yes, I had to have the ribbons — braided into my hair or around barrettes and combs — long flowing ribbons that would stream from my head and connect me to the muses while I skated. Yes, I have always had a magical imagination, and it’s the perfect size, thank you very much.
Meanwhile, back at Xanadu. The blend of styles…
SO much ELO!
That album’s one of the ones I remember obsessing over.
So good. So, so good.
Except the ballads. I hate ballads.
My original plan for W Doors was Water Doors.
I’m sure they have a name, and if my mother reads this post, she may well tell me what the proper name for them is, but because W, they’re WATER DOORS.
They’re along the banks of Fall Creek, so I presume water, although to be fair, enormous Weebles may roll out of them after dark.
So yeah, W was for Water Doors. Super cool, right?
But then…
I came across this building.
It might be an old motel, but now it’s a business with many toolboxes a la work trucks and my research indicates it’s a heating and cooling service.
I was immediately intrigued by the …
joeyfullystated 
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