After much ado, my husband and I decided to re-do our kitchen. It's a bold move. It will (when added to everything else we've updated) out price our house right out of our neighborhood. We're ok with that. We decided our first home is going to be our forever home...I brought my babies home here. Let's just say I have attachment issues.
There are a few things I've discovered in life. One of which is: that the only two things that can easily and single-handedly destroy a marriage are babies and house renovating. See, with the babies, you have no sleep. Your partner has no sleep. You're frazzled and living in an altered reality. It changes when they start sleeping through the night. You need to be mindful to say things like, "I'm sorry." "I didn't mean that." "That came out wrong." Not easy to do when you've got spit up on your clothes, smushed crackers in your hair and you've not slept for 6 days...
...And then there is remodeling. Your stuff is moved. You can't go in places in your own home. There are strangers making noise all the time. I've found it to be stressful, and they weren't even in my kitchen. My sanctity. Oh boy.
I call designers. I'm getting estimates. I'm working on layout and counter choices and all that fun stuff. And I don't find it fun, but it occupies my time. What do I find the funnest? Funnest? Most fun? AHA! Ridiculously entertaining! ...is terrifying these designers!
"And we could put a Lazy Susan here."
"No."
"No?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because it will lead to my inevitable divorce..."
[blank stares]
...sigh
I'm a realist. I know my limitations as a human being. A Lazy Susan is beyond my self-control capacity. No. Let me enlighten you. I'm an anal neat freak. I live with a full grown closet slob (means he looks put together to the ppl outside our home) and three small children. I'm fully aware that I'm a PITA to live with. But we have a system, and it works for us. There is harmony. It will end with YOUR Lazy Susan.
"Here's how a LS goes down: I will spend five+ hours organizing it to perfection. There will be some alphabetization. Possibly sorting by size and/or color. Day two will see my husband pulling out the peanut butter and putting it back where the hell ever HE wants. Kids will enjoy the spinning. SPINNY SPIN! Things will get knocked over. One day, three months from now, when it takes me seven hours to find kidney beans, I will lose it. I will sit on the floor to remove everything from the LS. I will swear to myself. I will begin to swear increasingly louder with escalating boldness and each utterance will be more colorful than the last. I will begin to yell at my family. Megalomaniacy will set in. My lunacy will terrify the children and my husband will have to shush them & leave the house. I will restore the LS back to its former original glory.
This cycle will repeat itself every three to six months. It's the sad reality of our natures. For the preservation of my marriage NO LAZY SUSANS!"
I've taken perverse pleasure in their stunned and wide eyed faces. It almost makes me giddy. I begin trying to see their notes to see what-else I can frighten them over. Is that so wrong? It's honest. I can't have a LS. Single Cathy can, but Super Mom & Wife Cathy cannot. It's a horrible tragedy.
So, in case you were wondering what I've been doing to while away my time the last month or so...there you have it. Anything else you'd like to suggest for my kitchen???
Friday, October 11, 2013
Friday, September 27, 2013
Hey Wait! I Read That Book...
This week was a shit show in my house. My husband went a-travelling for work. Not uncommon. And while I'm not a fan of the single life for a week, I make do. That is, I make do when I'm not vilely ill.
Each night dragged on and my illness got worse. I had no energy. I could barely keep my eyes open, let alone *make* something for my lovely children to eat. They were left to brush & floss their own teeth, as who wants Mommy's "snot hands" in their mouth? Yuck.
Monday started out well enough. I was bullied into picking up Taco Bell. These kids felt empowered. I was too worn down & tired to care.
Tuesday saw some Wendy's drive through action. The salty taste of victory was upon their little fingertips, and they liked it.
Wednesday night reached the boiling point. I had no voice left, and couldn't even muster off the couch. I ordered Papa John's online with my phone. A few things suddenly occurred to all of us. They realized they were in control, and I realized they realized this fact. I was frightened, they were emboldened.
The oldest steps up to the plate, "Do I really have to go to bed early just because you are too sick to stay awake?"
Are we going there? I've read this book. I know how Lord of the Flies ends [caution: spoilers coming]...This mutiny is not going to end well for any of us. With the last vestiges of my strength, I collect and squawk out - remember that I have no voice - as menacingly as possible, "Yes. And if you would care to consider, I will not be sick forever, and I am capable of tightening up your bedtime from now until kingdom come should you really feel the need to challenge me..." She backs down. Good, I've effectively kicked Ralph back into place. There will be no ritualistic murder dance on my watch...even if my eyes are swollen & weepy.
My sweet son tries next. Now, I'm not too certain if he was genuinely concerned and trying to take care of me or if his plot had sinister motives, and I wasn't too keen on finding out just then either. "Mommy, you look so sick. I don't want you to die. Just close your eyes and it will be ok. I'll take care of you. Close your eyes....close...your...eyes..."
OMG! NO! I've read this book! You people murder Simon! He was sick, and had a seizure or some shit...and I'm sick. And while I may not have a seizure, THAT kind of chaos is not going down. I'm aware of the ugliness that will ensue should I just 'rest my eyes' for a moment tonight.
This book does not have a happy ending. Piggy dies in this dystopia. Since I've already discovered who Ralph and Simon are...I look to my littlest. Poor Piggy. NO! I can't let this happen. As the wolves begin to circle, I decide that NOW is the perfect time for bed. Much longer and all hell is going to break loose.
I usher the kiddies to bed and take my temperature. 100.5, nice. Not too bad though. I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be a sick day. And it is. My fever reached a 101.3 pitch, and I downed more NyQuil than a human should consume in a 24 hour period, but I come through the ordeal sweaty and slightly bewildered, but my reign on the deserted island is still in tact.
Each night dragged on and my illness got worse. I had no energy. I could barely keep my eyes open, let alone *make* something for my lovely children to eat. They were left to brush & floss their own teeth, as who wants Mommy's "snot hands" in their mouth? Yuck.
Monday started out well enough. I was bullied into picking up Taco Bell. These kids felt empowered. I was too worn down & tired to care.
Tuesday saw some Wendy's drive through action. The salty taste of victory was upon their little fingertips, and they liked it.
Wednesday night reached the boiling point. I had no voice left, and couldn't even muster off the couch. I ordered Papa John's online with my phone. A few things suddenly occurred to all of us. They realized they were in control, and I realized they realized this fact. I was frightened, they were emboldened.
The oldest steps up to the plate, "Do I really have to go to bed early just because you are too sick to stay awake?"
Are we going there? I've read this book. I know how Lord of the Flies ends [caution: spoilers coming]...This mutiny is not going to end well for any of us. With the last vestiges of my strength, I collect and squawk out - remember that I have no voice - as menacingly as possible, "Yes. And if you would care to consider, I will not be sick forever, and I am capable of tightening up your bedtime from now until kingdom come should you really feel the need to challenge me..." She backs down. Good, I've effectively kicked Ralph back into place. There will be no ritualistic murder dance on my watch...even if my eyes are swollen & weepy.
My sweet son tries next. Now, I'm not too certain if he was genuinely concerned and trying to take care of me or if his plot had sinister motives, and I wasn't too keen on finding out just then either. "Mommy, you look so sick. I don't want you to die. Just close your eyes and it will be ok. I'll take care of you. Close your eyes....close...your...eyes..."
OMG! NO! I've read this book! You people murder Simon! He was sick, and had a seizure or some shit...and I'm sick. And while I may not have a seizure, THAT kind of chaos is not going down. I'm aware of the ugliness that will ensue should I just 'rest my eyes' for a moment tonight.
This book does not have a happy ending. Piggy dies in this dystopia. Since I've already discovered who Ralph and Simon are...I look to my littlest. Poor Piggy. NO! I can't let this happen. As the wolves begin to circle, I decide that NOW is the perfect time for bed. Much longer and all hell is going to break loose.
I usher the kiddies to bed and take my temperature. 100.5, nice. Not too bad though. I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be a sick day. And it is. My fever reached a 101.3 pitch, and I downed more NyQuil than a human should consume in a 24 hour period, but I come through the ordeal sweaty and slightly bewildered, but my reign on the deserted island is still in tact.
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