Sunrise. Sunset.

So. This is completely surreal. Both my kids are in school.

Yes. That actually just happened. And this:

BE STILL MY HEART. And then the bus came, stopped at the wrong place, forced us all to run and flag it down, the kids were out of breath and half-crying, and they scampered onboard to shouts of Further back! and Keep walking! The good news is when the bus finally pulled away, Addie waved happily to me. Me, on the sidewalk. Me, all alone.

I am all alone.

This has not happened in– well. Wow. I think this is probably the first time since Eli was born, seven and a half years ago. I mean, maybe an hour here, half hour there, but give it about ten more minutes and I’ll have passed my record. And then I have the whole DAY. Every day from now on (almost). (Addie has staggered entry: she goes today for a meeting with the teacher and a smaller group intro to kindergarten, and then she takes a few days break for the other groups to go. Full time begins next Wednesday. But still.)

I don’t even know what to do with myself, seriously. I made a list of like twenty things to accomplish last night and I did over half of them in the first ten minutes after they left.

But my two major things on the agenda are an update here– sorry for the break, my sister and I were out being ridiculous, I’ll get to that in a second– and an update over at MY BLOG AT URBAN MOMS. PARDON MY CAPS BUT I HAVE A NEW BLOG. I’M JUST GOING TO DROP HINT LINKS ALL OVER HERE LIKE CONFETTI. If you like design, and you like the internet, and you like me, you might like my new blog. I’m just saying.

So– back to what I was ORIGINALLY just saying. Life over here has been awesome lately. Yesterday, my daughter turned five:

and we celebrated by taking her to the mall in the morning and buying her goodies (“What is this?” she gasped when we walked past Victoria’s Secret– so much pink– “That’s ten years from now,” we told her), and then going out as a family to a dinner at the Melting Pot. Addie picked it because it involved her favorite things, cheese and chocolate. And then she hardly ate a bite of either. She was just content to munch on the carrots and brownie pieces.

Elias cried the whole way there because of something or another, who knows (God love that kid, but he does cry over the sky being blue), and then LOVED the Melting Pot. “I can’t believe this is SO GOOD,” he raved. “Addie, you HAVE to try this chocolate!”

“ELIAS!” she howled. “STOOOP! IT’S! MY! BIRTHDAY!” Which I guess is the equivalent of YOUR MOM.

PS: Here is a little aside about Elias crying. I hope you find this funny when you can read it, Eli, because it was pretty funny when it happened. The bus driver– we have a new, worse driver this year– decided to drop the kids off in the middle of a busy road nearby rather than driving down our street. Like, a four lane throughway. The parents were livid, the kids were terrified. Elias came home upset about being left in the road (understandably), but then burst into tears thinking about it before dinner. This is literally, almost verbatim, his sobbing workthrough of the problem and the conclusion: “I can’t be left in the street! The street will– it’s too busy and I’ll just, I’ll just– then– I’ll die. So! I’ll just walk… but– I can’t. The walking is so far–” (interjection: one block) “– and my legs are too small and I’ll just die if I have to walk because I think my legs will, like, wither from all the heat and the work, and so NOW WHAT? Now– I just– I have to CARPOOL! But I don’t have enough FRIENDS! Just me and Addie– that isn’t enough! That– and what if Dad needs our car? And what if we don’t have gas? What if the gas tank gets ruined and then the station has no more gas and then I never get to school? What if I NEVER get to school? I WILL NEVER GO TO SCHOOL AGAIN!” (Here’s the golden part.) “AND I WILL NEVER,” he wailed, “GET AN EDUCATION! And I will NEVER get good grades and go to a GOOD COLLEGE so I can become an ENGINEER and BUY A HOUSE to MARRY SOMEBODY AND HAVE A FAMILY! NOW MY LIFE! IS RUINED! BECAUSE OF THIS! STUPID! BUS DRIVER!”

PPS: I know. How can you not laugh?

My sister left yesterday morning after an amazing visit. I miss her so much. There’s a possibility– a legitimate, big one, hopefully– that they’ll be down here in the next couple years. Chris’s job might have the option of him working remotely, which would allow him to move to a new location. She’s also visiting again in the next two weeks, so– well, that’s a lot of Michelle. AND I LOVE IT.

She brought a whole box of memories with her. It was stuff my mom passed on when she moved out (passed on is a loving term, I think basically told her to pick up or get it chucked was more like it; heh), and she drove it down. Inside was a treasure trove of memories.

Grade school Becca. And have you seen my son?

I’m just saying. We know who the mother is, that’s all. (Not that… there would be any doubt. I guess.)

We looked through a lot of the journals and birthday and holiday and report cards in there. Those are PAINFULLY telling. If you want eerily profound and prophetic, check out your progress in third grade. Some were cute, like, “Rebecca enjoys entertaining others with her stories and shows an aptitude for writing.” Others were kind of– sad. Not to point any fingers, or name names, but there were definitely inter-family notes and projects that were like PLEASE LOVE ME. Our parents were hard as hell on us, too. I know I’m not saying anything they don’t know, and we all don’t know– West Point cadets and ex-missionaries, you can imagine the standards– but there are tons of report cards with A’s on them and comments like: “Becca/Michelle is an excellent student, a role model, and an absolute joy in our class,” and a reply comment from our parents like: “I’m glad you think this is acceptable, but Becca/Michelle still needs improvement. Let us know how extra credit works, because this A needs to be an A plus.”

PPPS: There are no hard feelings now, but suffice to say this played out in a BIG WAY over the next ten/twenty years.

There was also a lot of discussion about growing up together in the same room. One thing you don’t truly appreciate as an adult is how a sibling is all up in your business, ALL the time. You locked everything. All our toys had locks on them, and like, fingerprint IDs. Because if you left a diary out for four seconds, it WOULD get read. You left a toy out, it WOULD be played with. You left your makeup out, it WAS stolen.

BECCA: Our childhood was literally ‘Sleeping with the Enemy’.

And we talked about how totally embarrassed I was by Michelle, who wanted so badly to be liked. My friends all thought Michelle was adorable and sweet, and didn’t get how humiliated I was by her mere presence. She used to come in with her candy that she saved up and be like, “Does anyone want lollipops? I have, uh, sour apple… and watermelon… and, um, if you don’t like those, I could probably–” and I’d be all, “OHMYGAWD GET OUUUUUUUTTTTTTT!”

We laughed so hard over this. Sigh. I miss her. Then by high school we were such BFFs that we only invited a small handful of other people even in our room to eat chips and watch movies. The rest of the world had to get out, then.

We also talked about how “Don’t make this weird.” is possibly the most weird thing you can say. Like, there is NO situation where “Don’t make this weird.” will not make it ten thousand times more awkward. If I said that to Addie’s teacher on open house day:

MRS R: Hi, is this Addie?

ME: Don’t make this weird.

Yeah. The whole school year– shot.

Just sitting on a couch, watching TV with a friend.

ME: … Don’t make this weird.

– or ordering food from drive-through–

EMPLOYEE: You want to super-size that?

ME: Don’t make this weird.

– or saying goodbye to a co-worker at the end of the day–

COWORKER: Well, see you tomorrow!

ME: Don’t make this weird.

See? IMMEDIATE DISCOMFORT AND SECOND-GUESSING.

What else did we do? Um. Looked at houses. Ate a lot. Well, not a lot, just much worse than usual. Played with Play-Doh:

I know those pictures are horrible but what do you expect? THIS CAMERA. I shake my fist at it.

And we drove around a lot in Michelle’s pimpin’ mom van.

Michelle does not have a baby to put in it (YET) but she bought it maybe six months, a year ago with the intention of filling it with children. To that end, she bought one with a DVD player and wireless headphones. Our car is not nearly as cool as Aunt Shell’s car, and I think my kids are disappointed to downgrade to mine after being spoiled.

I think that’s about all I have for now. I got to get to work on my paying gig (cough cough) and probably mow the lawn. I may even go out to lunch with my husband. Like an actual date. A date where we don’t have to pay a babysitter.

Is this real life right now, that’s all I’m saying.

Sister sister!

OMG. Best morning EVER. So I wake up, like, an hour ago– get my vegan breakfast, put my glasses on, check my morning sites with my Diet Pepsi– high level dorking it up, basically– and I call my sister to see if she hit the road yet. It’s like 8:30. My family is known for planning on leaving at one time, usually in the wee morning hours, and then actually leaving at another, usually in the late afternoon. So when Shelly said she was going to wake up and go, I was like, “Well, see you by dinner.” Heh. But I called her at 8:30 and she was like, “I LEFT AT 6, I’ll be there in AN HOUR AND A HALF!” WHAT. So now I have to throw this entry together in, like, seven minutes so I have time to pick up the house. The good news is the worst has already been cleaned, because we had a random guest yesterday too:

JESUS CHARLIE!

It was a really fast visit (he was literally in town for the day, driving back same night), but I loved seeing him. He’s supposed to bring the whole family by in a couple weeks. They’re expecting their sixth child now. AMAZING.

Before that, we had open house at school. Like, right before that. Like an hour before Charlie came over. Heh. It was busy and loud and confusing, but at least we got to meet the teachers and see a few parent buddies in the halls. Elias is in a cottage again. Boo. It’s in the boonies, too. So I think that was a bit of a disappointment. Although his teacher’s name is Mrs. Fields, and Michelle said anyone named after a cookie chain can’t be all bad.

Addie was kind of weird the whole visit. She was surprisingly subdued and stand-offish.

I’m always amazed at how young and gorgeous the teachers here are. When I was in kindergarten, my teachers were trolls. For real. They were like eighty years old and hunched over and wrinkled and no-nonsense. Mrs. Fields looks and sounds like Sleeping Beauty. And Addie’s teacher is the skinnier twin of Anne Hathaway.

And now, because I’m out of time but I want to fill this entry out, here are a bunch of photos from the free kindergarten day at Marbles Kid’s Museum in Raleigh and a Time Warner Cable thing we went to over the weekend:

MY CAMERA IS SO BAD. This is the worst camera ever. You know that thing where you take a shot, it looks good on the display, you download it, and it’s questionable blown up? Well, this is like– I take the photo, it looks barely acceptable on the display, I download it, and the photo doesn’t even make sense blown up. Things are warped and out of focus. People’s faces disappear. Limbs are chopped off. It’s Twilight Zone via old Canon. Sigh. I’m done.

Really quick, because this is on my mind and I want to ask: Elias says sorry CONSTANTLY. He apologizes for everything, repeatedly, and he breaks down into tears. Over everything. Asking for a different TV show to watch, needing help finding a shoe, wanting more waffles– all these things, he’ll apologize for (“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”) and then start crying. I can’t figure out what to do about it– has anyone else dealt with this? Talking about it and reassuring him he doesn’t need to apologize more than once– and certainly not for legitimate requests– only serves to make him cry more; because he thinks he upset me, and that I need to Have a Talk with him about the emotions. And I don’t. He is a REALLY nice, good kid; he’s just so afraid of asserting himself that it worries me. I finally asked if something had happened, like– you know, an adult did something, somebody touched him, I don’t know– and he got exasperated: “NO! I’M JUST! SORRY!… Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Sorry for yelling. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

I just don’t even know. Hopefully he’ll outgrow it. I’m trying to be patient and encouraging. I keep thinking of The Whole Wind Trauma of ’09, and how that eventually disappeared– and, which, BY THE WAY, he doesn’t even REMEMBER. The other day he was upset by some thunder, and I was like, “Remember when you were so scared of the wind you wouldn’t even go outside?” and he looked at me blankly. “… What?” he wondered. “That didn’t happen. I think you might be crazy. — I’m sorry.”

Me, I’m a Creator.

I had a panic attack today. I think it was, at least. I’ve never experienced anything like it; it was just horrible. The morning started off really well– the last bits of my part time job are being hammered out. I’m going to write for UrbanMoms.ca, and I am thrilled about it. It’s a dream position. I’ll get a little column, basically, and get to talk about geeky things a few times a week. And I get paid. I know I’ll be throwing more information up here as things get finalized, but they offered and I accepted, so– AWESOME. That’s awesome. And I was– am– stoked.

So I’m talking to Michelle on Skype at lunch, and we’re talking about that, and some other gossipy things, and she’s like, “I’m going to come see you in a few days!” and I’m even more anxious. It’s an impromptu trip. We jointly made the decision about a day ago that she should visit. I’m going over in my head all the house stuff I need to get in order before she arrives. In the middle of making those hang-out plans, I get a rejection from an agent about ‘Zombiefighter’. This isn’t the first rejection I’ve gotten, and I’m sure not the last, but it’s the most friendly and least form-generated. I’m not the best agent for this, it says, but good luck finding someone else to represent it, and there’s tons of us out there. In a nutshell. For some reason, this just hits me– badly. It’s not the turning down. It’s like this– really abrupt realization that yes, there are tons of agents, and this will be a process, and it will take forever. I saw myself at thirty years old, thirty-five, forty, hunched over a copy of Writer’s Market, trying to find the last few names I hadn’t queried and, like, praying someone would take it on. And it wasn’t like I doubted the story: I don’t. It’s an incredible story. I love it. I loved writing it, I loved rereading it. I really believe in the characters, the plot, the concept, even the marketability and mass appeal. But, like I told Michelle, the zombie thing is unfortunately working both for and against me: zombies are hot right now, but everyone is selling them. The minute an agent or publisher reads ZOMBIE, they don’t think Modern Frankenstein. They think Trendy.

BECCA: It’s like trying to convince someone to buy a vampire book right now, in the wake of ‘Twilight’.

MICHELLE: Even if you’re trying to sell ‘Interview with the Vampire’.

BECCA: Exactly.

I got off Skype and started cleaning, and the kids started messing things up. They’re not bad kids. They aren’t. Even at their worst, they’re hardly worth complaining about. It was just– like– today… I don’t even know. I looked around, and I felt like: Go to school already. Please. I want my house to be clean. I want ONE DAY where I put something away, and it stays there. Or I wash the floor, and nobody rides their scooter on it. I want to work uninterrupted. Sit down, begin to write– begin to pay bills– begin to return emails– and finish without a little person needing a drink, a snack, a movie put in, a TV put on, shoes put on, clothes taken off. I’m tired of constant noise. I’m tired of large things crashing upstairs, and that minute right after where you just KNOW. You KNOW something is broken. You don’t even want to go find the problem because you KNOW it’s going to make you insane. I am tired of hearing I’M BORED TELL ME SOMETHING FUN. I don’t know! I don’t know anything fun, dude! I’ve been trying to make this whole summer fun, and there are like three days left and I have NO IDEAS ANYMORE. We did Playdough and the pool and the animal shelter and the library and obstacle courses and cupcake baking and storytime and on and on and– I’m done. I have nothing in me.

And then I have ‘A Savage Wilde‘, which– God bless you, Carissa and Meaghan, for your enthusiasm; I needed it today. Seriously. Carissa especially. She sent me this incredibly sweet email telling me I was so talented and ASW was wonderful and she loved it, and to keep writing, and good luck with the book; and I managed to get it about an hour before I got my rejection. So the timing helped take the sting off. A lot. So then I had ASW, which was the only thing I wanted to do– the only thing I really didn’t need to do, my favorite frivolity– and I know a lot of people are waiting to read it, and I’m crazy late finishing the chapter, and I’m sitting there frustrated trying to just make these stupid words WORK, and I hear that CRASH upstairs, and Addie (“ELIAS! Don’t! Touch me!”) and Elias (“MOOOMMM ADDIE IS HITTING!”) and Addie (“No I’m not no I’m not no I’m not–”) and Elias (“You ARE she IS OH MY GOSH MOOOOMMM MAKE HER–”) and Lola starts barking at the ceiling because someone is stomping their foot and it sounds like someone at the door, and I’m looking around the kitchen thinking I NEED TO CLEAN THIS, why can’t I do anything right, now I have this job, what if I can’t write my column, what if I never get published, and there’s too much noise,

and I seriously just– felt like I was dying. I totally lost it. My whole chest constricted, and I couldn’t breathe. My pulse raced. It was like– dizziness and nausea and just this crushing depression. It came on so fast. GO TO YOUR ROOMS, I finally got out. SEP.AR.ATE.

“You’re being so mean today!” Elias told me. He hrummphed into his room, then came to the stairs a minute later: “I’m sorry. It’s just that you are.”

Addie, from her doorway: “Can we play? I love my brother again.”

It felt like I was just sitting at the table, staring at my computer screen forever. It was only like seven minutes. I couldn’t bring myself to move. It was like I was paralyzed by this– fear? Doubt? Guilt, too. Guilt that my life is primarily good. Guilt that I still want so much more out of it. And then panic that none of those wants will be realized. And guilt again, because THESE KIDS and THIS HOUSE and a WONDERFUL MARRIAGE. And then panic again, because: all I wanted was to be a writer.

I finally began to feel my heart slow down. I told the kids to come out. I closed all my tabs about agents. I closed my ASW document. I walked around, picking up abandoned flipflops and empty Capri Sun pouches. I vacuumed. I checked next year’s teachers. I picked Jason up at work. I ate a bowl of cereal. I relaxed a little. I don’t know. I feel better, probably, but not 100% yet. Maybe it’s just the transitions between different stages of life. Maybe this is all normal. I hope. I’m hoping.

The grown-up version.

I can’t talk about any of the awesome news yet– God, I wish I could– because it either isn’t mine to announce, or it isn’t finalized. So for the next week or so I’m probably going to have a slew of boring posts. And I apologize in advance. Maybe they won’t be boring to you, because you aren’t me and all this information will be new and awesome, but likely a lot of it will be exactly like your life except in typed words.

First thing:

I got my glasses!

They came in a week late, and were really exciting for the first ten minutes. Then I realized they were giving me double vision and a splitting headache. I’m bringing Elias in for his first eye appointment tomorrow, and I’m going to ask about the glasses while we’re there. Is that a normal occurrence? Do glasses just really hurt for the first few days? Or week? It felt like my eyes were trying to adjust and overcorrect– it just felt like a lot of strain and blurring. The reason it was delayed in the first place was because the lenses were incorrect, so I’m wondering if another error was made. Either way: I like the frames. Heh.

(Jason said I look a lot more “mature”. In quotes.)

Kids are starting school in a few days. I am dying not knowing who their teachers are. I don’t have any real favorites, I just want to make sure Elias is in the building this year. I thought only first graders were in the trailers (they call them cottages, which is cute and everything, but they’re trailers), and it turns out second graders can be too. With all his concerns about tornadoes and flash floods, I just want him in a brick enclosure. It makes life easier. One of the teachers has the last name of a Super Mario character, too, so he’s gunning for her. Heh. And Addie– I don’t want her to have Eli’s kindergarten teacher. She was WONDERFUL, don’t get me wrong. I love her. We’re still Facebook buddies. It’s just that I think Addie will be the absolute opposite of Elias– it would be hard not to compare them. I want Addie to have a totally blank slate for a teacher, one with no experiences with her very quiet and scholarly older brother.

Also, I have a little question, and I wanted to put it out there for discussion. I’ve been meaning to hit on it before and kept forgetting.

I let Addie wear makeup.

I’ve been letting her wear it since she was– two. Maybe. Around that. I had this list of things that I was not going to do as a parent, especially the parent of a girl, and it was like No Skanky Dolls and No Mini Skirts and No Computers in Your Bedroom and no this and that, but I never even considered makeup. I’m not a super girly girl, but I love makeup. I love it. I’ve always loved it. It was never a sexual or glamorous thing to me; I more liked the packaging, the collections, the theatrical transformation of it. When Addie first expressed interest in my lipglosses, I was THRILLED. It was probably akin to how J felt when Eli first picked up the XBox controller. It was a thing we had in common: Sephora. Addie and I would hold hands and walk through all the lit aisles of powders, liquids, brushes, curlers, tweezers, perfumes, sticks, bottles, pots, and squeal and test them on each other. For Christmas and Easter, I would buy her more makeup, and then show her how to put them on. Foundation first, eyeliner drawn across the lid, this gloss over this one. It never occurred to me until a few months ago that not all– in fact, not many– moms let their 4-year-old leave the house in eyeshadow and lipgloss on a regular basis. One of the girls in Addie’s ballet class said something. “You look like a real fairy!” the girl whispered, amazed. “Is that magic?”

“Of course not!” Addie answered, in that perfect flippant tone that will serve her well in middle school. “It’s my shimmer cheek powder and my sparkling eye shadow! I put it on before we left.”

The other girl looked at her like she was speaking Japanese. Then her ballet teacher said something diplomatic and friendly, along the lines of some little girls parents let them put on sparkles and some parents don’t, and Addie’s looked very pretty. (And it did. Addie is better at applying makeup than half the adults I know. She is dedicated to her craft.) But it kind of made me feel like– I don’t know. Like a stage mom? Maybe? I know I’m not. I mean, I’m the farthest thing from it. I’ve never put any of my expectations on her, and I just want her to be happy. I don’t have any unfulfilled desires I need to live out through her, and she doesn’t have to like what I like. But I know it could LOOK that way. And I know, even if someone knew I wasn’t treating her like a human doll, maybe they would think I’m sexualizing a kindergartner. Again, not the intent. And it’s not like she has red lipstick and black raccoon eyes. It’s all pretty Bonne Bell, low key, light pinks and whites and violet stuff. Still. I know she REALLY wants to wear lipgloss to school, at least, and I’m second-guessing myself about it now.

I guess my question to you guys is: if you have a daughter, when did you start letting her wear makeup? If you’re a girl slash woman without kids, when did you start wearing makeup? And if you’re a guy, how did you make it this far reading this topic? Hats off to you, friend. I wish I had some cookies to reward you with. (PS: if you’re a guy and wear makeup, please also tell me your story; because I totally want to know.)

Staying alive.

Time is FLYING by. I used to think people just said that as a conversation filler, sort of the real life equivalent of LOL– like you’d see somebody and they’d be all, “Dude, what have you been up to?” and you’d be like, “Nothing much. Time is flying by.” (Unless you were online, in which case– like I said– you’d be all, “nothin much LOL”.) Now I realize: no. When I say time is flying, I mean it. I mean in like a huge life statement kind of way. I mean, like, things are passing by too quickly, and the world is changing around me, and rather than say it’s good or bad, I can only say it’s different and fast. This summer has just been a series of anticipated events that are over too soon. It was like Disney World would NEVER come, and then it was here and gone, and now it’s been weeks and weeks since that happened. Then my mom would NEVER come to town for her long stay, and she’s been here, stayed, renovated rooms, and left. Then Sharman would NEVER come– she came, she visited, she left yesterday– and I know next is school, then Addie’s birthday, Audrey visiting, my sister and Melissa coming, Halloween, Nic’s baby shower. It’s like all these wonderful, joyous things, but as each one passes I feel a little more wistful. A little baffled at how quickly the future becomes the past.

Another cliche comment I’ve realized the truth in is this: my kids are getting older, but I’m not aging at all. TRUE STORY. It blows my mind when I look at them, and they’re (nearly) 5 and 7, and then I’m perpetually 19. I feel so young. I feel like I’m too young to be this old. Heh. ANOTHER CLICHE, RIGHT? And I know some of this is probably denial; it’s probably me looking in the mirror and being like, “You haven’t aged a day. There’s no way you’re going to be 30 in a few years.” And I’m sure everyone tells themselves that. I’m sure I probably have wrinkles and gray hair and the beginning stages of arthritis, and I’m probably way more responsible and life-savvy than I was then, but I don’t see any of that. I feel like I’m basically the same person I was the day I married Jason. Just with two kids and a mortgage.

Oh, and! Yes. Two kids. Two. Not three. After a very long scare, I am not pregnant.

BUT.

…

Heh. I’m just going to let that sit there. I’ll come back to that topic soon; I have some amazing gossip on the baby front but I don’t want to share anything until it’s For Sure. I guess that’s one way I’m definitely older. When you’re young, you never consider that things won’t go according to plan.

Anyway, sorry for the small, vague update. The only other things going on around here are Jason resurrecting my 2005-era PC so he can play the new ‘Starcraft’:

And Addie getting a back-to-school haircut:

And shirtless Eli photobombing everything.

(If you’re wondering why these photos are so blurry, and when I suddenly got a camera– I found one of my old Canons in the garage. It’s pretty much the worst quality ever, but it’s (slightly) better than nothing. I just need SOMETHING at this point to document our life, particularly First Day of School!, and this month has been crazy expensive so no new camera till September-ish.)

(Also, yes, that top photo is me writing this entry. DOUBLE META RAINBOW.)

Off to get the house picked up– you know you judged when you saw the pictures, heh– and start in on tonight’s chapter of ASW. Audrey began reading it about a week ago. First she emailed me that she really enjoyed it, then followed it with a complimentary Twitter. Her enthusiasm for the project got me interested again. I read the series from the beginning for the first time since it began almost a year ago (TIME IS FLYING FOR SERIOUS), and it’s really, really good. If you have a few hours to spare, start it up. I apologize in advance for the ugly design and clunky navigation, too. The best thing about hosted WordPress blogs is they’re free. The worst thing is you get what you pay for. Customization is virtually impossible without an upgrade package, and I’m hoping to move back onto my own clean server before the fall season starts.

Are We Dancer?

I meant to write this entry last night– I started, but Jason got ‘Kick-Ass’ from RedBox and I actually wanted to see it, so after a few lines of a mediocre post, I just gave up and watched the movie instead. After the last RedBox experience, I was kind of braced to hate ‘Kick-Ass’ too, but OMG. It was thoroughly entertaining. I’m usually the person who closes their eyes during fight sequences, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Hit Girl’s insane slaughtering. She was ridiculous. In the most awesome, complimentary sense.

Really quick– on the movie topic– thank you guys for all your emails. I’m taking awhile to get back to them, but that’s just because I want to give them all the focused and sincere and thought-out response they deserve. I was moved by each letter. I’m sorry so many of us have experienced what we have, and I’m incredibly humbled that you wanted to share your stories with me. Thank you. Thank you, thank you.

This is going to be a pretty quick, light entry; unlike the last one. For one thing, my dad is coming in a couple hours. It was an impromptu trip– he just asked last night if he could come visit. Which: of course, always. So he should be motorcycling down here at this very moment, and I need to carve out a nice spot in the garage for his bike before he gets here (and of course, there’s the general pick-up). The other thing is that I have this weird, tiny pinprick of a blood blister on one of my typing fingers. I’m writing this up in a bandaid, and it’s like trying to type with mittens.

Quick recap of life the last few days:

Jason and I are better. We both had a rough week, but after a few talks, apologies, discussions, and even another fight (apparently, men don’t like it when you throw out their old gaming magazines; even if they are SO OLD THAT YOU HAVE BEATEN ALL THE SPOTLIGHTED PREVIEWED GAMES AND THEIR SEQUELS– but whatever, I digress, heh)– after all that, we hit a nice groove today. He even tried to explain the benefits of RAID 5 versus RAID 10, which is a discussion they’re having at work, and drew it out for me:

Jason doesn’t share his work much, so I thought it was sweet. Interesting, too. He’s a good teacher.

And we have the kids. Who– have been a sitcom into themselves.

Midway through J’s explanation about distributed parity, we heard a shrill scream. Then Elias: “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry!” and Addie, screaming and crying. We both ran up to see Elias holding one of those candy mouth spray bottles and Addie clutching her eye. Yeah. It’s exactly what you think.

“MY EYE IS BURNING WITH CANDY!” she screamed.

“I’m sorry!” Elias said. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“WHY would you DO that, Elias?” Jason thundered, and Eli answered, “She told me to spray her face!”

“I told you to spray candy on my cheeks!” Addie wailed.

“I was trying to get it up your nose!” Elias answered.

“Oh my gosh,” I sighed. “Addie, come here.” I carried her in the bathroom, and we washed her eyes out with water. She perked right up. Tears gone. “Woah,” she announced, touching her pink eyelid. “Well… that was a pretty bad idea.”

YES. TRUER WORDS, Addie.

They have both been especially– let’s call it entertaining– this week. Earlier today, we bought school supplies, which went pretty well. It’s tax-free weekend here in NC, and I was sure the crowds would be ridiculous. It actually wasn’t too bad. They both picked up backpacks– Eli traded his original planned Domo one for a slightly differently styled Domo one, and Addie got one with a cupcake listening to music. Mission accomplished. Then to Walmart for supplies, which had everything but composition books. Under budget, too. I’m happy. (Especially since my electric bill came out to not twice, but FOUR TIMES higher than normal this month.)

(Also, I don’t know where to stick this in)(that’s what she said)(sorry, I don’t know)(but my brakes have been giving me trouble since I got the new pads and rotors in March. I’ve taken it in before, they’ve looked, they don’t know why it was squealing, it would probably go away. It didn’t. Finally I had enough and told them to just do a straight swap of the pads since since it’s still under warranty. I think that happened on Wednesday or Thursday. Turns out, my old pads had been warped when they installed them. They realized it after removing. They upgraded me to a premium pad for free, for all my trouble. SO glad I kept pushing back on this, and that I wasn’t crazy.)

A few more random kid asides:

I.

Addie saw one of her cousins get in trouble the other day, and reported to me later it was FANTASTIC. “Fantastic?” I frowned. “I don’t think that’s the word you want.”

“Oh, yeah, real fantastic,” she said. “Fantastic it wasn’t me!”

II.

We rented ‘Princess and the Frog’ two nights ago, and I fell asleep before it ended. The next day, Jason said I ought to finish it before we returned it to RedBox. (I know; we spend a lot of money at RedBox for a family with a Netflix membership.) I was trying to put it in when Eli came up to us.

ELIAS: Why are you watching that?

BECCA: I want to see the ending.

ELIAS: Oh, you didn’t finish it?

BECCA: No.

ELIAS: So you don’t know that guy dies?

JASON: Elias, she didn’t watch it!

ELIAS: SORRY. I didn’t say which guy!

BECCA: Okay, well, good, because–

ELIAS: It was the voodoo guy. –SORRY!

I sighed, and gave him a look. DVD is in. Walk to the couch. Eli follows me over.

ELIAS: Hey, Mom? You know that voodoo guy?

BECCA: Don’t spoil me!

ELIAS: I’m SORRY! It’s just that–

BECCA: Are you going to tell me that he dies at the end? Again?

ELIAS: No.

BECCA: Because I know that–

ELIAS: He dies at the end of his voodoo magic. –SORRY!

(Sorry if I just Elias-ed one of you. Don’t worry, though. You’ll see that ending coming four seconds into the film. It’s just the PRINCIPLE of the matter.)

III.

Elias has decided to be a magician, but rather than learn any magic, he just stands in a spot– makes you close your eyes– and then runs away before you open them again. Ta da! Disappearing!

He tried this last night and disappeared successfully from the foyer. He was standing on top of a plastic box, and only the box remained. I applauded, and then said loudly I wondered if Elias would reappear on the box if I counted to ten. I counted to ten. Eli ran out and tried to make a leap for the box, but missed, tripped, and fell backward. He immediately burst into indignant tears that ADDIE DID IT! Addie, who was two feet from the whole thing, got scared and ran upstairs to her room.

“No,” we said, “she didn’t.”

“She did!” he howled. “She made me fall!” His foot had actually gotten a brush burn on it, but he hadn’t noticed. He was focused on his favorite toy in the world: his one dollar wooden alligator. It’s his Hobbes, and he’d been holding it during the trick. “OH NOOOOOO!” he shrilled. “WHHHYYY DID THIS HAPPEN!”

The alligator had been decapitated.

I couldn’t fight it. I put my hand over my mouth and started giggling. The toppled box, the trick in general, the headless alligator, Addie upstairs going I DID NOT DO THAT! and Elias shouting OH YES YOU DID! and Jason just standing over everyone with his hands on his hips like the perfect Dad pose would cure everything. “PUNISH HER!” Elias demanded, holding up the alligator’s body. “PUNISH HER FOR THIS!”

“ELIAS,” Jason said. “I know you’re embarrassed, and I know you’re hurt, but it’s not okay to blame other people, especially your sister, when you make a mistake!”

“Addie,” Elias seethed, “did. it.”

“No,” I said. “She was not physically capable of tripping you from where she was.”

Eli scowled at Jason, then at me, then breathed in and out very dramatically. “Well,” he answered carefully. “… You believe what you want. And I’ll believe what I want.” And then he climbed off my lap, where I was holding him, and went upstairs with as much dignity as a magician in tiny pajamas could muster. He paused on the landing. “Please glue my friend’s head back on,” he added. Then he went into his room, and shut the door.

I love my kid’s drama. I really do. I know it should grate on me more than it does, but I find it kind of amusing. I even thought it was funny when Elias had his first foot-in-the-mouth experience with women and weight; telling me I wasn’t that fat– no, not really fat at all, he meant, except I just eat a lot– well, a lot more than him, but maybe I’m just hungry all the time– and well, maybe it’s just because I’m pregnant. “What?” I said. News to me, kid. Why did he think that? “I just think you are,” he answered. “And– well, part of it is really embarrassing.”

“What? Tell me.”

“It’s your… your boobs. They’re a lot bigger.”

I frowned, then started laughing. Eli looked relieved that I wasn’t angry. “I put a different bra on!” I told him. “OH!” he said. He laughed too. “You still think I’m pregnant?” I asked.

“Well, yes,” he said.

Later, I was like: who told him an increase in breast size relates to pregnancy? How does he know this stuff? But, eh. Whatever. He’s been making comments about the baby ever since, and how it will be nice for us to have a baby of our own like Erin. I really brushed it off, but now that I’m a few days late, it’s making me nervous. This would be one of the WORST months to get pregnant. I already had a surprise pregnancy during the wedding planning, which was not fun. If I miraculously got pregnant the very month before both my kids are in school and I start working– I don’t even KNOW. I can’t win for losing.

I don’t think I am. I really don’t. But his certainty is– disconcerting.

PS: While I was writing this, my dad called and said his motorcycle broke down, so he can’t make the trip. Aw. Poor guy. I’ll miss him, but I completely understand. I guess the only good news is I can check the whole garage-space thing off my list. Off to do everything else.

PPS: I ran this morning! Or jogged, rather. First time in a month. I am SLOW.

Biting honesty.

I am in such a bad mood. I don’t even know. Yesterday I was in a good mood, and then Jason rented ‘The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo’, and I was kind of excited to see it because people told me it was a murder mystery. It started and I’m kind of not into it right off, because I can call everything happening from a mile away, which starts me getting angry. I’m already annoyed, like, Oh, of COURSE they’re going to walk in there, and he’s going to ask about this, come on, something good happen, and I just can’t take this main female character who everyone was raving about, because she is exactly who a man would write if he thought he was writing an ‘atypical’ female lead, and doesn’t ring true to me at all. I feel like this dude sat in from of his computer, and was like, Let’s see. She’ll be totally hot, of course, and skinny, but she won’t be like the other hot skinny female leads because she’s going to have dark hair and be kind of boyish, and I’ll make her wear some hoodies to emphasize that and–  what’s angsty? DARK EYE MAKEUP AND BLACK BOOTS. Yeah. NICE. And she’ll need a supercool skill that will appeal to dudes but also not threaten women, so let’s pick– computer hacking. THE MOST GENERIC ‘IMPRESSIVE’ SKILL EVER. I am watching this and already mad because it makes me hate the way men write women in books and movies, and then– oh, and let me spoil this for you, if you haven’t seen it, because NOBODY SPOILED IT FOR ME AND I WISH THEY HAD– in the first half of the movie, there is a three-minute graphic rape scene that made me physically sick. I am SO FUCKING ANGRY about this scene. SO MAD. I am furious for SO MANY REASONS. I’m furious that a male writer decided the only way to show a ‘tough woman’ was to make her sexually assaulted, over and over, violated in the worst possible, and to be like, Oh, she survived this, it’s cool, she’s tough enough. THIS WOMAN VIDEOTAPES HER OWN RAPE. A WOMAN WOULD NEVER WRITE THIS SHIT. As a woman who has survived a rape, and who has had friends who were raped, there is no fucking way. THERE IS NO WAY. And all this sadism was presented on film as ‘a warning against the violence against women’. YES THIS IS THEIR ACTUAL REASONING. This was the actual position that the author and director took. Let’s revel in an extended and realistic rape scene so we can all know rape is bad, and strong women can get through it, and EVEN USE IT FOR REVENGE, as the main character then sodomizes and beats and brands her perpetrator afterward. I CAN’T. I got up and left and seriously considered breaking things. I was shaking angry. I was angry at the movie, I was angry at Jason for not fucking turning it off– dude, you KNOW my history, you KNOW triggering things, you knew the second the scene started and I started swearing at you about how upset I was, that should have been OVER. I was LIVID. LIVID. And I was angry at my friends. I was angry at Jason’s mom. I was angry at everyone who suggested this movie to me. I literally sat on Facebook for about ten minutes, debating whether I should just write a mass email like F YOU ALL I HATE YOU FOR TELLING ME TO SEE THIS THANKS FOR THE NIGHTMARES ASSHOLES– but I didn’t, but now I feel like I should have. SERIOUSLY.

So I get up and I go away and I can still hear the film, which Jason has dubbed, and I’m seething about how much I can’t STAND THIS FILM and I can hear this plot going which is so painfully predictable, it’s like every single murder mystery ever, and I think, Well, if a man wrote this, of course he wrote that the damaged girl who has been raped and abused by men will somehow let her guard down and have sex with the unappealing middle-aged male character, who is totally a self-insert on the author’s part, and LO AND BEHOLD TEN MINUTES LATER SHE IS HAVING SEX WITH THIS AVERAGE MALE LEAD. This is complete, stupid, obvious literary wish fulfillment. I finally got up and went upstairs because I AM DONE.

I go to bed angry and wake up and I don’t even talk to J when I drop him off for work. He knows I’m still angry at him. I had a pretty good day with the kids– God, my kids are wonderful; they really are. It’s hard to be upset around them. They’re the sweetest little people. We went to see ‘Despicable Me’, which almost brain-bleached the movie from the night before. I went into the theater not expecting much– the kids had both asked to see it last week, so I was filling a promise– and it was really cute. Afterwards, we go home and I do things. And I start getting annoyed again. I still have residual anger from how totally offensive ‘Girl’ was to me as a woman and a thinking person, and then other crap just started adding up, like I DO EVERYTHING AROUND HERE. Most of the time I don’t mind it, but I DO EVERYTHING. AROUND. HERE. I’ve had a shocking amount of people online say things like, “Jason is so nice to let you stay home with the kids, he really takes care of you, you’re so lucky and spoiled,” but NOBODY in real life has said that to me, because let me say something– now, while I’m drunk on being true and vocal and indignant– I HANDLE BUSINESS. People in real life tell me Jason is lucky and spoiled. And he is. He works hard. And that’s IT. He works at his job, and everything else in his life is taken care of for him. He does not worry about jack crap in his life. I do EVERYTHING. AROUND. HERE. I change the oil in the car, I mow the lawn, I pay the bills, I make the appointments, I plan the schedules, I handle the money, I buy the groceries, I clean the house, I take out the trash, I deal with taxes, I help with the homework, I do the laundry, I walk the dog, I do the educational outings. Jason’s job is simply to go to work, put in his hours, and come home. I keep the car running that takes him there, including being the main gas-filler, and I get the clothes ready for him to wear, and I pick up the trail he leaves in the house when he gets back. That isn’t to say he doesn’t help out– he does; even when I’m furious at him I know he’s a great partner and father. And he never made me take over all the household stuff. I’m good at it. It’s easier this way, and normally– 95% of the time– I even enjoy it. I liken it to Joan on ‘Mad Men’, the HBIC of the entire office. I run our family like a well-oiled machine. But there are days, or even hours or even minutes, where it’s overwhelming, and I just want to walk away and cool off.

ANYWAY so today I was already angry at him, and now I’m going through all our personal things, like birth certificates and marriage licenses and Social Security cards, and I’m overwhelmed at how messy Jason left it all these years, and it’s just building. We go out to iHop for dinner (kids eat free all August; FYI) and dinner is kind of okay but it has that tense undertone. When we get home, I’m cleaning up the house, like where Lola dragged her dog food across the living room– LOLA! STOP. DOING. THAT.– and I shampoo the carpet and am ironing some shirts and doing dishes, and I see Jason with his iPad– he was doing some computer stuff before that, so I’m not going to make it out like he was playing Solitaire the whole time– and I’m like, “Can you help me?” and he’s like, “Sure. What do you need?”

I don’t know why that made me just snap. Some of these negative feelings are totally justified and others I know make no logical sense, they only stem from exhaustion and frustration. But I’m looking at a playroom that has a whole train set out, and building blocks, and there’s empty food dishes and flattened Capri Suns and abandoned stickers, and I feel like PICK ANYTHING JASON. And now I’ve moved into I’M JUST BEING A JERK territory. I rarely cross over. I can feel it happening, like the Hulk. I’m just MAD at JASON, and I don’t even need a reason anymore. I know most couples have Nothing Fights, but we hardly ever do. We’re pretty open about why we’re upset, and we get past it. But I’m too freshly angry to discuss it, and now I can’t stop. “Oh, GREAT!” I complain. “Who left all these tools in the laundry room? You or my mom?”

“I think your mom,” he says evenly. “But I’ll pick them up.”

“There’s nowhere to put them in the garage.”: snarky, because he was supposed to help me clean the garage out.

“I’ll find a place.”

“NO,” I say, getting worked up, “you’ll ruin everything. YOU DON’T KNOW WHERE TO PUT THEM.”

“I’ll find a place!” he says, louder but not giving into my goading. Jason hardly EVER fights me back. He is so unflappable it makes me crazy. It’s probably a good thing, overall, but sometimes you want a reaction. “I CLEANED UP IN THERE!” I yell after him as he takes four of the twenty-eight tools downstairs.

“I’ll put them on the top shelf!”

“NO, I CLEANED UP THE TOP SHELF!”

“It’s fine!” he shouts back. Then he goes in the garage. When he comes back out, he goes to the couch. “WHAT ABOUT ALL THESE OTHER TOOLS?” I yell downstairs, and he’s like, “YOU TOLD ME NOT TO RUIN THINGS. SO I WON’T.”

“…Stupid… makes me so… I could just,” I mutter under my breath. The kids are running around obliviously. It boggles my mind that they worry about the most unrealistic things, like giant squid falling from the sky and flattening our house, yet never worry about us arguing. I guess that’s good, though.

I go downstairs and clean the kitchen, and I start to slam the kitchen drawers and cabinets to make him angry. He will not bite. “You’ll break something,” he said playfully. “Careful.” I’M FIGHTING YOU JASON. I AM FIGHTING YOU WITH MY SLAMMING. BE ANNOYED. Nope. He just sits, working at his computer.

Finally I go upstairs and play on the iPad with Elias, and fall asleep. I wake up sick-full from the iHop dinner, and go downstairs. My head hurts. Jason is still working in the office. I sit down. “Hi,” he says.

“I’m MAD,” I said.

“What?” He sounds half-surprised.

“I’m SO. MAD,” I said, and then I sat down to write this. It’s the most actual journal-like blog entry I’ve written in awhile. I debated even posting it, but I think I will. I feel like most of the time things here are good and sunshine-y, and probably people feel like I’m putting a gloss on our life, but things really ARE that way, usually. Last night and today just sucked. I want to be truthful about everything. I want to record the negative, too.

I finished this entry and Jason was staring at me across the desk.

“What’re you doing?”

“Making a post about how angry I am with you,” I said. “Can I publish it?”

“Sure,” he said. “Then I can read it and know why you’re upset.”

I sighed, and I summarized all the events for him, and he actually immediately and fully got why I was so upset by the movie, and he apologized. He said he didn’t understand about the tools, though. I said I was just being a jerk. It was a Nothing Fight, I said. He got that too. WHY DOES HE MAKE IT SO HARD TO BE ANGRY. I’m not ready to feel better yet.

I’m just going to put this up and you guys can read it, but I don’t really want any comments, so I’ll turn them off. I just wanted to vent. This wasn’t a feedback kind of thing; it was just a– this is what happened, this is how I reacted. I know some of you will totally understand this, and some of you won’t, and some of you fight with your spouse and some of you don’t, and some of you loved that movie and won’t understand how anyone could hate it, and some of you hated that movie and will be glad someone else wanted to burn their copy.

Anyway.

Taking in the car in to have the brake pads replaced in the morning (they’re still under warranty, and also still squealing), and then hanging out with Erin and the kids. She’s having another girl. Three girls and a boy, so sweet. And then this weekend looks like it’ll be back to school shopping. Right now, though, J just went up to bed, so I’m going to have a longer talk with him before he falls asleep. Talk soon, guys.

Sight: hind and fore.

Way back in May, Ali asked me if I wanted to be featured on Aiming Low. All I needed was a good entry and a photo, and I had neither because my site was hacked and I didn’t like my face. So she emailed me again two nights ago, like, “Hey, are you still down for that feature?” and I was like, “YEAH I AM!” –Which was a complete lie. I was not at ALL prepared for it. I only had, like, three working entries and none of them were what I’d call my best work. Most of them I wrote between viewings of MTV trash shows. Begin panic attack.

I finally got all my entries online– it took me about two hours to get them properly exported and imported from old blog to new one, and another hour scanning through them; praying for something halfway decent to send. I noticed two things while reading. One, I begin 83% of my entries with an apology for slacking in writing. 94% of the time, I was off doing something totally legitimate, but still felt guilty. Two, I make up 141% of my statistics. Three, I grossly exaggerate amounts. Four, I have problems with numbered lists. And five is that my life is SO DELIGHTFUL in retrospect: all these entries I remember thinking were totally dull at the time, and now they seem so sweet and charming. For years, I sat in front of my computer, and thought, Well, might as well throw together something totally lame about my day, and now I go back and, like, God, I WISH I could spend a day with newborn Addie, or four-year-old Elias, or see my house as it was built, or my friends before they were married– all these fleeting little stages of life that are now passed. I wish I could go back and see myself. Oh, and six: I mention being fat every third entry. And I was NOT. I wish I could go back and delete all those lines, too.

I was actually going to begin this entry with an apology and a complaint about how I ate too many doughnuts and probably gained three pounds, but decided– no. No. Own your decisions, Becca. OWN them. So I’m just going to say I didn’t write and I ate a lot, and– yeah. It is what it is. Heh. And I also thought my day was lame and not worth writing about, but maybe I’m wrong about that too. So here’s a little recap:

Yesterday morning, I lost my last contact lens somewhere in the bathroom. This is not an interesting story, really. I was just legally blind for all yesterday. I mean, I don’t technically know if I was legally blind, but I told everybody that because it’s close enough and then they’d offer to drive. I know I shouldn’t be behind a wheel without optical help, let’s put it like that. I spent all Friday complaining that I couldn’t see and milking the experience– an experience that was totally my fault, since I must’ve completely missed the little contact lens holder and put a lens on the counter or the sink or the toilet or something, but I enjoy a good gripe. Let it never be said about Jason that he isn’t tolerant, either. That dude can handle a complaining wife.

We went to a birthday party for a neighborhood friend, and then home. I sat in front of the computer playing Sims, because it was all I could do. I can only see about three feet in front of me clearly without contacts. If that. I had spent the morning emailing about vision insurance (we had it, we just had to figure out through who), and then trying to get an appointment. I requested appointments at two local clinics. No reply. Finally, this morning I woke up, and for some reason I thought of ‘Mad Men’ and the new episode tomorrow, and I decided I CAN NOT WAIT. Not being able to drive– frustrating. Tripping over obvious pieces of furniture– frustrating. Mistaking other people for your friends since you can’t distinguish features– frustrating. Missing ‘Mad Men’– UNACCEPTABLE.

I called around and wheedled receptionists until a local Eye Care Associates found an afternoon opening for me. Drive over with J and kids. Elias tries to tell Addie about the optometrist: “It doesn’t hurt. They just blow air in your eye and measure your eyes with giant goggles. It’s just air in your eyes, is all.”

Addie looked at him and deadpanned, “Um, that sounds terrible. I don’t want to do that.”

Why this is so funny to me, I couldn’t tell you. Sometimes she is all baby talk, and other times she’s like an old man who’s had enough of the world and has no time for nonsense. She just busts out with things like, That sounds terrible, or, We don’t have time to be stupid today, Elias.

This appointment took about an hour and a half, so I’ll sum it up with: eye exam is free, glasses are free, contact exam not free, lenses not free, some other deductible, and I had to pay for them to take photographs of my eye versus having them dilated. I was given the option: two bright flashes for $39 or a free dilation. I said I would pay the $39. Jason questioned this as soon as I went out to the waiting room, all, “You turned down a FREE, covered routine for a $40 one?”

Me: “Have you ever had your eyes dilated?”

“Yes,” Jason said. I could tell by his expression he wasn’t sure.

I gave him The Look. The look of a new Becca who OWNS HER DECISIONS. “It was worth it,” I said. I freaking can’t stand eye dilation. Maybe it doesn’t bother some people, but for me, the influx of light makes me nauseous and dizzy and headached. I would pay not to get hit in the skull with a hammer if it were standard practice, too.

My total bill was $183, which was $183 more than I thought I was paying. Initially, I was told insurance covered everything, then it turned out they only covered everything I didn’t care about having done. I’m sure I still made out well in the deal– without the vision coverage, it probably would have been around $500. Still, though. Man. $183. I keep feeling like we have some extra money, and then I go and drop my contacts in the toilet.

I got new glasses, too! First ones in a few years. They’re pretty brown Kate Spade ones– they should be here next week, and I’ll take some webcam shots.

What else, what else, what else. Things are kind of in a weird limbo right now. I’m waiting to get final confirmation about the job. What it sounds like– I think I can talk about it now, at least in basic terms– a column three times a week. Online, so I could work from home. It is literally a dream job, and it would probably be about things I love, and I’m kind of pinching myself because it doesn’t seem real. All the signs are positive so far, but I don’t want to hype myself up too much and get let down if it doesn’t pan out. I’d like to have a job. I know I’ll go crazy with no kids to take care of at home, and there’s only so much cleaning one person needs to do. Plus– I know a lot of you will get this– as a stay-at-home mom, you really feel like you have to justify your worth. It’s not considered a real job by most people. I know it is. Other stay-at-home moms know it is. It’s ridiculously hard, it’s time-consuming, it’s exhausting, you’re a teacher, a nanny, a maid, a chauffeur, and a cook all in one. Especially with young children; you barely get a minute to yourself. (This is not a judgement on how hard working moms have it. I know there’s probably all kinds of judgments passed both ways– both are difficult positions and not nearly appreciated enough.) It seemed like for years when people asked what I did, and I’d say, “I stay home with the kids,” they’d be: “… That’s it?” Um. Yeah. That’s it. I think– this is me, this is my take– it seemed like a lot of people thought childrearing wasn’t challenging in and of itself (oh ho ho ho, WRONG), and that a person of average intelligence would need an outlet. Which– is like– I think everyone needs an outlet, don’t get me wrong. I’m glad I have hobbies. I think it’s important for EVERYONE to have hobbies, and to keep evolving in their interests. But I think– again, especially with babies and toddlers– it is more than a handful for any sane, intelligent person. Keeping three steps ahead of a creature who seems hellbent on injuring or killing itself is a CHORE, trust me. Molding little humans into good and decent adults is a monumental task.

For all these years, I felt like people weren’t giving me the benefit of the doubt when I said I was a homemaker. If they were jerks about it, I just thought they were jerks. They were wrong. I was busy, all day, every day. But now that I’m looking at two kids in school and an empty house, a homemaker isn’t the work it used to be. I feel really obligated, for the first time, to find SOME way to earn my keep. So if this position pans out, it’ll be a Godsend.

I seriously can’t believe I’m going to have a second grader and kindergartner. I can’t get my mind around that. I was talking to Erin about houses, and she asked if we were considering moving. “Oh, not for a long time,” I said. “Not till Eli is in middle school, at least.”

“So four-ish years?” she asked.

“No,” I said, “middle school.” Then I did the math and almost died.

Facelift.

So, I’ve been gone. For days. I can’t– I don’t even know where to begin. Heh. Okay, suffice to say, my mom and I– particularly me, I’ll take the brunt of this– are insane. We thought– or, again, I thought– we could beadboard the walls, rip up and replace a patch of carpet, reorganize the garage, and redo my back porch in three days. Guess what you really CAN do in three days? NONE OF THAT. It took us FOUR days just to finish the beadboard, and we worked almost the entire time.

My mom brought her camera, so luckily I have evidence of this ordeal. I’m going to skip ahead and spoil you and say it looks incredible; the finished product. Like, professional grade, ridiculous, the whole room is out of HGTV good. I’m also going to say NEVER AGAIN. And save your money. And no. If I could give advice on this, it would be don’t. Or just do it in a room that makes sense. We hit every possible obstacle we could in this renovation, and there is no way now, after this, I would want to do the kitchen ourselves. (Jason seems to have been empowered by the experience, but I’m still bowled over by the time and expense.)

Oh! And the expense! Yeah. If you go into this, thinking– as I did– that eight foot panels are $15 at Lowe’s, and you did the basic math in your head and thought it would cost about $200 for this project, you would be gobsmacked to know that I shelled out a whopping $700+ from my early inheritance for the basic supplies. Trim, paint, caulk, glue, nails, fresh brush rollers and all those little random things add up fast. I guess the good news is I didn’t have the money last month, so it was kind of extra. The bad news is I don’t have it this month now, either.

(PS: I’m excited I got to use the word ‘gobsmacked’ in a sentence. Heh. It’s a great word. Elias feels the same way about ‘conundrum’.)

I’ll sum up about 89 hours of work in a few photos. I was thinking the whole time how on shows like “Extreme Home Makeover” or “Trading Spaces”, you just get to see the people start work, then you come back five seconds later and it’s all done. Turns out, real life is nothing like that. Real life is caulking for two straight hours and having paint on your elbow and not showering and going to the store at 10 at night to get more glue and none of the pieces you measured fit together.

Here’s what we started with:

Addie’s room. I didn’t tell her to make it look purposely awful for the before pics– she just did it on her own. Heh. It’s funny; I never liked the kid’s rooms and planned for years to fix them, but looking at these photos makes me realize just how thrown-together they were. It was just leftover stuff from the apartment or baby years with a handful of individualized items tossed in.

Eli’s room:

So. I’ve had visions for the house since we moved in. I knew it would take a long time to gather the items and funds to make things happen, but I knew what I wanted in their rooms from Day One. I had visions of white beadboard, with blue paint on the exposed wall in Eli’s room and pink in Addie’s. This house has always had the bones of a little cottage, and I thought that was really in keeping with the look and flow of the structure. Jason was (surprisingly) on board with making it happen, and my mom is always down for a project.

First thing was going to Lowe’s and buying supplies. Mainly nails, caulk, paint, beadboard, and trim. We figured we were done with shopping. We figured wrong. In fact, we made a Lowe’s trip every. single. day of my mom’s visit. A guy named Kyle helped us mix the paint, and gave us advice on getting the beadboard up. “You should just be able to nail it,” he said. “Up against the wall, hammer or nail gun it, you know. Not too hard.” I don’t know if Kyle had awesome experience doing this or was just being blindly supportive. Heh. Good thing we liked Kyle, because we saw almost him every. single. day of my mom’s visit. The third time we walked in, my mom goes, “Oh no, don’t look, he’s going to wonder why we don’t know what we’re doing,” but he spotted us and started laughing: “HEY, it’s my favorite customers!”

I think we bought stuff Thursday, then started working Friday. First we moved everything out of, or to the center of, the rooms.

Then we started taking the wall appliques off.

I did awesome at this, as you can see.

Moved the board up, to see how it would look.

Oh, yeah.

My mom bought the kids Toy Story Kerplunk to keep them entertained in the background. It seemed to work.

Now: paint.

I did Addie’s room, and my mom did Eli’s. These few photos span about two and a half hours.

By this point J was home from work for the weekend, and my mom was in a joyous mood:

Bwahahahaha. This is EXACTLY how both of us felt.

Jason inspected our work and we began plotting the paneling.

It’s about 8, 8:30 Friday night by now. We’re already tired and we hit the first, very major problem: the studs in Addie’s room aren’t evenly spaced. We won’t be able to hang several feet of wall on anything. It’ll have to be glued solely. The other problem is the windows. We realized early on we’d have to cut around all outlets and light switches, which is a hassle, but Jason had to tackle four windows in Addie’s room of different sizes and heights. We decide to frame the windows, in an effort to make it a little cleaner looking. This adds on another several hours of work, but I think was ultimately the right decision.

Also a huge problem that began in Addie’s room but manifested worse in Eli’s was the floor and corners being uneven. Nothing was entirely straight. Some panels needed to be shaved a few quarters of an inch at a particular angle to even meet at the seams.

I let J and Mom handle the measurement drama, and took the kids out for food slash shopping. Addie was going to be inheriting Eli’s old bed, and Eli was getting a bunk bed from my parent’s house. Since Addie’s previous bed was toddler sized, she needed all new twin bedding. Run to Target, do some more damage to the checking account. (I convinced her to get this set. Her original choice was this one.)

We didn’t have anyplace to put new purchases, so they kind of all went into an overcrowded playroom:

We got up about two flat panels and then called it a night, feeling somewhat pleased.

Saturday. Up, eat breakfast, back on the horse.

Cutting the panels makes an EXTREME amount of brown dust. You can see it all over the panels in the photos (and it got on the carpet, too). Mom came up with shop vac-ing each piece before it went up, which helped a lot.

While they measured, sawed, glued and nailed, I had four jobs: assistant panel-holder, child wrangler, maid, and garage organizer. I spent several hours cleaning up the mess that got left behind. I went into the rooms and changed out trash bags, brought paper towels, picked up used caulking tubes, vacuumed, that kind of thing. Fixed lunch for people, then cleaned the kitchen. If I’ve learned one thing getting older, it’s that picking up as you go is a world easier than picking up after a major project. I tried to keep my workspace for garage organization decent, too.

There were about ten whole boxes full of junk I went through and emptied. Some were just that: junk. Sketches of ice cream cones, ads for plastic toys, a G. I. Joe missing an arm and a head, nonsense like that. Some were CDs or video games or OS install discs. Some were photos. Some were important documents that THANK GOD I found (marriage certificate, anybody?). And the VAST majority of it was bills and bank statements from every year of Jason’s life since forever. I kind of get why he saved this stuff for a certain time. What I don’t get is why we still had it. Anything from the 90′s that is not a Nintendo game does not need to be in our garage.

(It was a little cute, though, going through. He spends his money the EXACT same as a single and married man. Heh. Best Buy. Quizno’s. Movie theater. Rinse, repeat.)

Upstairs, progress was also happening.

We broke around dinner to have dinner with our neighbors Laura and Chris. That was REALLY nice, and needed. Laura made vegetable enchiladas, which were ridiculous good, and Chris grilled meat for everyone else. The women hung out and talked in the air-conditioned dining nook while the kids and men played some game in the backyard that involved assaulting the playset with balls.

By then we were out of caulk and nails and we needed more trim, and we had to buy paint. Back to Kyle. Work some more, fall asleep on the couch to a RedBox movie. Everyone is in decent spirits but growing frustrated that this job isn’t over yet.

Sunday. Things are coming together by lunch.

I made some strides with the garage, too.

And suddenly, after ALL this work, and literal blood, sweat and tears, the rooms began to take shape.

Take a quick break to drive to the dump, to drop off all my garage trash. I’m throwing away a really old Tullsta chair we have. And by old, I mean like the JANKIEST chair ever. It has a broken leg, and the slipcover is dirty and destroyed, and it’s been through a dog and two kids and countless cousins and a big move. It’s dead. We have to put this chair down. My mom can NOT see anything go to waste, though. After we throw all the actual garbage bags into the trash compacter, she starts half-wailing to passerbys: “Someone PLEASE give this chair a good home! It’s a GOOD CHAIR! We just don’t have room for it, but it never hurt anyone! DOES ANYONE NEED A CHAIR DON’T MAKE US DO THIS!” Finally the man working there offers to take the chair from my mom, and put it out of its misery. “I can’t watch,” my mom moans, and sits in the van while they toss it in the compacter. When I get back in the van, I can’t stop laughing. “What WAS THAT?” I giggle, and she’s like, “I don’t know. I was kidding.” Me: “NO YOU WEREN’T.” My mom sighed. “You’re going to tell this story to everyone, aren’t you?” she said.

Yep. EVERYONE.

(PS: I totally love you, Mom.)

Lowe’s, and home again. We began to caulk. Another major stride. I am the Caulking Queen! I informed J, about five seconds before I caulked an electrical outlet and he revoked my crown.

PHOTO OF ME CAULKING!

More semi-finished room shots, about a hour later:

Build the bunk beds.

We put them together wrong twice. I’m so punchy and tired at this point that it just seems hilarious.

Done!

So now it’s Monday, and J has to go back to work. We spent all yesterday painting the walls, and putting furniture back in the room. AND! The moment you, and we, were all waiting for:

HAPPY HAPPY JOY JOY!

My mom bought me a new comforter, too. It was so sweet and unexpected– it was the one I’d been eyeing for awhile, and it was on sale. She thought I should have one nice thing for my own room. (I know; she’s a doll.) I bought some new white sheets with the last bits of my renovation allowance. And now: I’m broke. Heh.

The rooms aren’t totally finished, but they’re at least ready to show people and things generally make sense. Which is enough. For now, definitely. Heh. Enough until I have that finished product amnesia; the same kind that makes you look at your baby and think it’s a good idea to get pregnant again. I’m sure in another few months I’ll be walking by the beadboard and think, wow, look what we created. It’s a miracle, and I want another one. And just like a baby, until that happens, I’ll be walking around warning everyone off it, like, YOU DON’T WANT NONE OF THAT. TRUST ME. IT’S JUST GOING TO KEEP YOU UP ALL NIGHT.

Word of Mouf.

LOOK AT THIS.

What is this? you might be asking. This is a backwards shot of my PRESCRIPTION TOOTHPASTE that I was too lazy to flip in Photoshop. I made sure to make it obnoxious and x-rayed, too, so you would know this is serious medical business. Yeah, prescription toothpaste, people. Medical strength. Toothpaste.

I had an appointment with the dentist this morning. I’ve been putting this off for, like, five entire years. I will go to twenty doctors before I see a dentist (and I have). It’s not that I don’t like the people. The actual dental professionals I’ve met: wonderful. It’s just that there’s– scraping. Even that word makes my skin crawl. It’s metal picks prodding at enamel. Inside my head. While I stare into a blinding light. And I knew I had cavities, which is like going into a test you know you’re going to fail.

Erin said she’d watch the kids, so I dropped them off and drove over, and tried to at least enjoy the quiet. Heh. Checked in, read about the economy in ‘Time’. That magazine sells gloom, dude. Every article starts off positive but then ends with a bad statistic and an anecdote of warning.

Get called back. Sit down. I’ll go through this two hour appointment quickly, but suffice to say:

My dental hygienist is AWESOME. We spent a good twenty minutes just going over being military brats and current movies. I considered for one full minute asking if she was on FaceBook, but then I decided: no. Too far. Too weird.

I got x-rays taken. My wisdom teeth are unerupted. Three of them are at least coming in the right direction, but one is all rogue and diagonal. I think they would have suggested I get them removed anyway, but I blame Wisdom Tooth 4 for ruining it for all of us. That stupid tooth with its stupid wayward growth.

After the x-rays, my hygienist came back in and said, “I’m looking at these, and I have to ask, do you drink a lot of sugary–” and I went: “YEP!” She started laughing. “I didn’t even get to finish the question!” she said, and I answered: “Diet Pepsi. Like six to eight cans a day.” I think she thought I was exaggerating, but I wasn’t; unfortunately. Later, when she asked if I drank alcohol, I was like, “No. There’s no more room.”

All my years of soda and candy have caught up to me: I have my first full cavity. I’ve had two fillings before, but they were to prevent what looked like a cavity from developing. But this one is hardcore. And it brought friends– eight others. I HAVE NINE CAVITIES.

They’re all in between the teeth, and apparently I have to begin a months-long plan for repairing them. “Because of time… and money considerations,” my dentist said. I’m thinking, okay, how bad can the money be? Elias’ cavity cost about eighty bucks to repair. Which is expensive, don’t get me wrong, but with the car paid off now, it’s not as much of an issue. So they print me out a little sheet of what my insurance covers and what it will be out of pocket each time, and my total cost for all the cavities is over A GRAND. It’s something like twelve hundred dollars. I just stared at the sheet. It’s like six and a half hours in the chair and twelve hundred dollars. WHY DIET PEPSI. WHY DO YOU TASTE SO GOOD AND TREAT ME SO BAD.

I had to still let them do my actual teeth cleaning, so I sat there, trying to be brave, wistfully gazing at the children playing next door until they brought the tools out and made me lay back and stare into the overhead light. For some reason, this scene in ‘Smiley Face’ came back to me. I only saw like fifteen minutes of it once, flipping through the channels, and promptly forgot about it. Till today. I kept hearing John Krasinski going: “Yeah, my teeth are being taken care of, you know? It makes me feel… prosperous.” So I keep repeating that in my mind, in Kraskinski voice: Prosperous. Prosperous. My teeth are being taken care of. Prosperous.

“Sorry,” the hygienist said. “It’s normal to bleed like that.”

My teeth are being taken care of. I’m prosperous.

It actually helped. It distracted me just enough to block the pain out, which was more the dull ache variety than the sharp sort. My teeth hurt the most when I got back home and to the kids. They just throbbed all day. I guess my gums more than my tooth, but still.

The good news is, I’m done! For a few weeks! Heh. I get to put that out of mind, and focus on my mom coming tomorrow. We are going to rip stuff up and build stuff and paint stuff, and make the house gorgeous. We going out to The Melting Pot, and we’re going to watch the new season of ‘Mad Men’, and we’re going to– I don’t even know. But it’ll be awesome, and I’ll take pictures.